


(Better) The Devil You Know

by lavachick85



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, I need to tag this properly, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, Victor Creed being Victor Creed, Violence, assholes anonymous, being held captive, but I don’t want to spoil it, i feel like that should be a warning all on its own, i wasnt anticipating this, possible triggers, potential dark fic, seriously, well duh it's victor creed, well this just got a whole lot darker, your friendly neighbourhood stalker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-01 11:11:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 67,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavachick85/pseuds/lavachick85
Summary: She had been in New York State for almost four months and had finally secured a job only in recent weeks. By day she slept, ate, did a great load of nothing else but by night she was a barmaid at one of the local restaurant-slash-bars. There was an hourly wage and it also paid tips so she was pretty happy, but will a chance encounter with a large, dark stranger change things?Who knew a game of cat and mouse could turn into something quite so life changing?Run, run, run as fast as you can...





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> So hello anyone who is reading! This is something a little different than I usually write (sort of) and it's the first time I've attempted the characters and this universe. Fingers crossed it goes over well!

It was dark in the street, not your normal middle of the night sort of dark either, more like an inky black darkness that swallowed up everything it touched. There were a few overhead lights at either end of the street but overall it was like being one hundred miles beneath the surface of the ocean where light had never even touched before. It was smothering.

Her boots clicked against the wet tarmac lightly, water seeping in through the shoddy stitching when she set her foot down in a large, shallow puddle. She cursed quietly to herself, shaking her booted feet around like she were doing the hokey-pokey and muttered aloud.

“Last time I pay good money for cheap shitty boots,” she grumbled, still shaking her foot to clear the water from the lining and her sock. She set her foot down, dejected and sighed loudly before continuing down the dark, empty street.

_“..’ere kitty, kitty..”_

Anna startled, looking back behind her for a second but continued on with a shake of her head when she saw nothing. Heard nothing.

She had been in New York State for almost four months and had finally secured a job only in recent weeks. By day she slept, ate, did a great load of nothing else but by night she was a barmaid at one of the local restaurant-slash-bars. There was an hourly wage and it also paid tips so she was pretty happy. Money was tight, but she enjoyed her job; the people she met on a daily basis made the two mile walk from her apartment to the bar worth it. Well, at least she told herself that they made it worth it, anyway.

“ _Here kitty, kitty…”_ a soft click of the tongue followed this time and she felt her heart speed up in her chest. It was hammering at her ribs as she moved even faster down the road, refusing to look back over her shoulder even though she was certain there was someone there. There had to be someone there, she wouldn’t be able to hear the gravel-rough pitch of the voice if they were any further away… Not at that volume, anyway. It was nearby but too quiet to be ahead of her.

A low chuckle floated up behind her and Anna could feel her fight or flight response kicking in. Her hands were sweating and her pulse racing, the mindless chatter that had been in her head before now a dull roar compared to the sudden desire to put her feet to the ground and _run_.

She cast a sudden, quick look over her shoulder but never stopped moving. The inky blackness of the night swallowed up anywhere she’d just been and anything – anyone – that may have been there.

Her breath panted out of her visibly in the cold night air and as she was turning back to look in front of her she collided with what felt like a big-ass brick wall.

“Oof!” She tumbled backwards and landed on her backside, her hands automatically reaching behind her to cushion her fall. The wet tarmac dug into the soft heel of her palm and she winced softly. Another low, amused chuckle could be heard and she looked up, her hat falling onto the wet ground and her long black hair spilling out and over her shoulders. She could smell the soft, powdery scent of the violet shampoo she used.

She looked up… and up…. And up. Her tongue suddenly felt too large and dry for her mouth and she could only hear the blood rushing in her ears for a second. The wall she had run into was definitely NOT a wall. It was a man. A very, very large man from what she could see with wide shoulders and close cropped hair. His eyes glowed amber in the moonlight for the split second that the clouds uncovered it then faded back to black holes in his face.

“What’s a matter, Frail?”

“… Frail?” She whispered to herself, confused.

He cocked his head at her like big cat would and stretched languidly. “S’right,” he rumbled. “Something chasing you, _Frail_?” His voice was soft but coarse, like he was making an exerted effort to remain quiet. He bent over to pick up her hat and gave it a light shake, water droplets spraying across her face and held it in his large hands. “Cause you’re runnin’ like somethin’s chasing you.” He offered conversationally.

Anna swallowed thickly. “I don’t know,” she managed after a moment. “I heard something…” she looked up at him as he surveyed the street behind her with an almost gleeful smirk on his face. “Is,” she looked over her shoulder. “Is there someone there?”

He stared out into the darkness for a moment, thoughtful, then shook his head. “Nnno…” he hummed. “No, can’t see anyone.” He lifted the soft, dark green hat to his nose and sniffed at it before tossing it back to her. “Violets?”

She scrambled to her feet and took three measured steps backwards. “Look…”

He rocked on his heels, hands now in the pockets of his long black coat. “Creed.” He offered cheerfully, leaning in. “Name’s Creed.”

She shot him a tight smile. “Right. _Creed_.” she took another step backwards and turned her body away from him. “Not to be weird or anything, but I really have to be getting home…”

He waved a hand at her, his face calm and casual. “S’alright, Frail,” he stepped closer again and she felt her heart start to thunder in her chest again. His eyes narrowed and he smirked at her, breathing in deep and slow as if he were tasting the air around her. “No need to be hasty, was just makin’ polite conversation...”

She eyed him nervously and shot him another tight, but annoyed smile. “I’m serious,” she ducked her head and tried to brush past him. He smelled of wood and smoke. Not the cigarette kind of smoke, but the fire and gunpowder type. It was enough to give her pause. “I have to go.” She clutched at the strap of her bag and pushed past him although she got the feeling that he let her, not the other way around.

She got four, maybe five steps past him when he cleared his throat. “ _Fra-ail…_ ” He called, his voice a low, sing-song tone. She didn’t stop walking, just hurried away from him. He chuckled darkly and her fear spiked again. It was the same sound she’d heard earlier… Oh, god.

She spun on her heel and looked back at the man only to find he was gone, melted into the darkness. She bit her lip so hard that she tasted the sharp tang of blood and did what her body had been telling her to do for the past ten minutes.

She ran.

From the shadows he watched, eyes tracking her progress down the street easily and he started the slow lope after her. She was bleeding from her fall… And she was terrified.

He murmured to himself as he went, a bounce in his step. A slow, lazy smile formed on his face and he licked at the tips of his teeth. “Here kitty, kitty…”

 


	2. 2.

She slept with the light on that night.

Curtains drawn, lights on, stereo playing… She felt secure in the fact that he wasn’t outside somewhere – she was on the fourth floor either way, there was no way he could get to her from the street anyway. Right? Right, no, there was no way. The building was secure and every visitor needed buzzing through the large gates. She was fine. Really.

The water washed over her shoulders and she stared at her crusty, bloody hands miserably. She picked at the scabs and grit in there with short nails and swore up a blue streak when she rubbed the peroxide over them and awkwardly bandaged them up so they wouldn’t get infected then went about her day. She needed food but that also meant leaving the safety of her apartment… Then again, staying holed up like some sort of victim when nothing had really happened anyway sounded stupid to her so she manned up and got dressed in her favorite jeans, a warm purple sweater and her hat from the night before and pulled on the same pair of boots. It was raining out so she grabbed an umbrella on her way out the door and locked up behind her.

**

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. 

“-ill that be all, dear?” The elderly cashier asked her, breaking her from her reverie and Anna gave a light shake of her head to clear the fog within.

She shot her an apologetic smile, one that didn’t quite reach her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry. Was off with the pixies.” She gave her a more genuine smile this time and handed over the cash required. “That’s it, thanks.”

She grabbed her bags and change and started out of the grocery store. It was brighter now, a little sun peeking through the clouds and she didn’t need her umbrella anymore so she tucked it inside one of the bags and looked up with a grin – at least it would be a nice walk home now.

What she saw on the other side of the road however gave her pause. Sitting on the park bench was one of the biggest men she had ever seen, black leather coat and faded, torn jeans on thick thighs… Close cropped hair and a twelve o’clock shadow on his face, sunglasses covering his eyes. His face was upturned into the sun, a large, thick arm stretched along the back of the seat. His fingers were tapping a slow rhythm out on the wooden bench.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, turning her face away from him and a rush of terror washed over her. “It’s alright, Anna,” she said to herself as she started down the street. “It’s not him,” she said quietly. “It can’t be him.” And she continued her walk home, never looking back.

Shame she hadn’t though. If she had she would have seen the slight flaring of nostrils and a fanged smile turned in her direction.

She never even saw him rise to his feet and disappear into the crowd.

Pity.

**

“Alright, what’s goin’ on, Anna?” Her boss David threw the damp rag down onto the bar top and put his hands on his hips, bearded face conveying nothing but concern.

Anna flinched, expressive eyes wide and startled. She scrambled to grab a hold of the slippery bottle in her hand before it fell to the floor. David grabbed for it and gave her a wary look as he set it down on the bar. He had only known the girl for a few weeks but she had never been as jumpy before as she had been for the past few days.

She opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head and waved him off with a strained laugh. “It’s nothing, just me being silly..”

He frowned at her. “Silly or not, something’s got you scared, kid. What’s happened?”

She chewed her lip, unsure as to whether she should mention anything to him. “There’s this guy…” At the look on his face she shook her head, “No! No, nothing’s happened, I swear! It’s just… I think he might have followed me home the other night.”

What she wasn’t saying was that she had been seeing him here, there and everywhere lately. He was there when she went to the store, he was there when she took the garbage out to the curb and he was fucking there when she closed her eyes and if she wasn’t seeing him whilst she was awake then she was dreaming about him.

David looked worried now, gently taking her by the elbow and leading her some place a little more quiet than behind the bar. “What do you mean, ‘followed you home’?”

She sighed and rubbed at her forehead, already becoming stressed. “I ran into him on the way home a few nights ago, ok? Big guy. Anyway, I think he might have followed me home but I can’t be sure. Alls I know is that I keep seeing him but it can’t be more than coincidence, right?” His nonplussed look didn’t do anything to ease her gut feeling. “Right?” She hated how small her voice sounded right now. She was a big girl, youngest of three and the only girl in the family, she knew how to protect herself but something about this guy… This.. Creed..

“Who’s Creed?” David asked, eyes narrowed.

“That’s his name,” she said softly, “He told me his name was Creed.”

David blew up. “You goddamned _spoke_ to the guy?! Jesus, Anna!!”

She yelled right back. “I fucking ran into him, David, of course I spoke to him!” Why was this such a big deal, she wondered? Why was David being so… strange? “What’s the big deal, David?”

He took a big, calming breath and blew it out. “Look, Anna,” he held up his hands in a soothing gesture. “I know you’re not some helpless little girl, but there are people around here…” he looked around and spoke softly, “-strange people. There’s some that you don’t want to get involved with; they’re dangerous. You blew in from some small town in the middle of Kansas and that’s all dandy, but you’re in enemy territory now, Sweetheart.”

She blinked. “Enemy what now?” she shook her head, lip curling. “Please don’t tell me you mean what I think you mean…?” She knew where this conversation was headed.

Mutants. He was talking about Mutants.

He registered the moment she caught on. “There are some very powerful…” his expression soured, “- _people_ around here, kid. Some might seem harmless enough but they aren’t. None of them are.”

She cracked a smile, shaking her head. “Of all the people I thought would be anti-mutant…” she spat, disgusted. “They’re human beings too, David.”

His hand slammed down on the counter top in the back office and he honest to god stomped his foot. It was almost enough to make her cackle like a lunatic but the look on his face was more than enough to sober her amusement.

“They are _FREAKS_ , Anna! How would your Mama feel if you took yourself a mutie home, huh? They all belong in a goddamn high security facility with round the clock supervision and ammunition!”

She was horrified and her face showed as much. “Ammu- Jesus, David!”

He scowled at her, arms folding across his barrel chest. “Don’t tell me you’re a sympathizer, Anna,” he almost asked, disappointment leeching into his tone.

Anna shook her head angrily and pushed past him. “You know what, David?” She wrenched her apron off and tossed it on the floor, reached behind him for her handbag and coat and headed for the door. “I fucking quit.”

He followed her out through the bar and into the parking lot, spewing hate the whole time. “Don’t come crawling back to me for work when some freak decides that you’re his next ideal plaything!” He shouted, “You’ll regret this, Anna!”

She scoffed as she moved quickly out of the lot and into the street. “Un-fucking-likely, Asshat!”

 

 

 


	3. 3.

When Anna was seven years old she almost lost her brother. He was four years older than her and they had taken a trip to their Aunt Julia’s house in Florida so they could visit the beach as a family unit… Of course, Thomas had been stubborn and had insisted he was alright without a beach buddy.

He’d been caught in a rip tide and was being pulled out to sea when his mutation had presented itself. He had grown gills from his armpits to his ribs and his fingers and toes were webbed. Later on, once the drama of the day had passed – once everyone was sure that he was ok, he had shown her the scales on the backs of his hands and the soles of his feet. He went on to tell her that he felt like he was suffocating when he was out of the water sometimes and as his mutation progressed he had grown spines and barbs down the length of his spine. Thomas had taken it in stride, but some of the other kids had not; meaning that they were right assholes about it.

She was so proud of her big brother. So very, fucking proud and anyone who said that people like him deserved to die needed shooting in the kneecaps themselves. Ok, so maybe that was a bit extreme… No, no it wasn’t. David needed a good swift blow to the head with a Galliano bottle.

_When in doubt, if you’re ever in a bar fight – jump the bar and grab the Galliano bottle! It wields like a baseball bat and won’t break if you swing it at someone!_

Her eldest brother, Michael had imparted that little piece of wisdom upon her when he’d found out she was working in a bar and whilst she had never been in the middle of a raucous fight, she had clung to the knowledge like it were gospel. There had been moments where she’d been tempted to reach for it, but she’d never had to, thank God.

Thinking about her brothers made her smile. She was the youngest of three and the only girl in the family. Her mother had died when she was just a baby so she had been raised by her father and brothers, then her father had passed when she was seventeen and they had stepped up to the plate even more. Michael and Thomas were a godsend.

To think that she would regret quitting a job where her boss had been a bigoted bastard was laughable. But then why did she think she’d just done a very silly, stupid thing?

**

“Jack and coke, please.” Anna threw herself onto the bar stool and slumped against the bar, her face and hands freezing from the sudden downpour outside. She frowned as she stared at her wrinkly pale hands. “Actually, make that just the Jack.”

The bartender slid her drink across the bar and was gone before she could so much as blink. She shrugged and downed half of the liquid in her glass and before she knew it she was on her fifth drink, pleasantly warm and somewhat numb.

“You followin’ me, Frail?”

Anna flinched, spinning clumsily to look at the behemoth of a man behind her. He still smelled like gun smoke, she thought in wonder and he was clad all in black. Tactical black cargo pants and a tight fitting t-shirt, all topped off with a huge ass pair of military boots and a leather duster coat that hung from broad, masculine shoulders.

_Oh God_ , she thought with a hint of sickness, _did I just check him out? Jesus he’s huge, I wonder if…_

He barked out an ill-used laugh and dropped into the seat beside her. It didn’t escape her attention that half of the clientele sitting nearby got up and moved when he had approached her either.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her lips numb from the whiskey, hand sloshing her drink across the bar.

The man, _Creed_ her brain supplied helpfully, _His name is Creed,_ studied her for a moment, then waved the barman over. She watched in morbid fascination as the other man just skidded a bottle of Old Navy rum across the counter and into Creed’s taloned fingers. Yes, talons. Jesus. Ok, she thought critically, maybe they weren’t so much talons as they were claws. Fascinating.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” He spat, as if the mere idea of her being in a bar for employment was a joke. Or maybe it wasn’t so much the job part, but where she was previously employed.

“I quit,” she blustered and finally noticed that she had whiskey on her fingers. She licked each one clean with an indecent pop and dutifully ignored the eyes on her. “Turns out the boss is an Asshat.”

Creed snorted and threw back a slug of rum. “Coulda told ya that weeks ago, Frail.”

Anna eyed him warily, but felt none of the usual fear she had come to associate with the man. Either she was stupid, or very, very drunk. She hiccupped. Drunk it was. Shit. “I think I’m drunk.” She blurted out all of a sudden and he turned sharp, amber eyes on her. His claws scraped against the glass bottle he was nursing with a shriek and he grinned at her flinch.

“Oh I know you are,” he commented. “Can smell it on you a mile away.” He tapped his nose with a long, thick finger and gave her a toothy grin and Jesus H. Christ, the man had teeth to match!

Fearless from the drink, Anna reached out and prodded his lip away from his covered teeth and openly stared. “Those are _amazing_.” She breathed, light headed all of a sudden. The pads of her fingers prodded the points of his teeth and she giggled at the look on his face.

Sheer incredulity.

“Jesus, woman, you _are_ fuckin’ drunk.”

Anna waved him off and attempted to liberate him of his rum. “S’not that bad… Seen weirder.” She hiccupped again and jostled his arm. He shot her a slightly irritated glance and loosened his grip on the bottle. “Try gills,” she muttered and shuddered as she swigged at the rum. “And _poisonous spines_.”

He watched her with something akin to curiosity and she suddenly felt like the canary in the cage being stalked by the house cat. Only this cat was pushing seven feet tall and was built like a fucking lion with claws and teeth to match. Oddly enough, she felt a whole lot more sober at the realisation.

“Not afraid you’re gonna catch somethin’, Frail?”

She blinked at him, black lashes framing glassy hazel eyes. “You can’t just _catch_ a mutation, Mr. Creed.” She missed the way his eyes darkened at the use of a title and went on. “Anyway… back to the stalking!”

He pursed his lips around the neck of the bottle and swigged. “Stalking is a very strong term,” he offered. “I prefer to call it avid surveillance.”

She crowed. “So you ARE stalking me! I fucking knew I wasn’t paranoid!” She did an enthusiastic fist pump and toppled off her stool. Well, she would have if his huge paw hadn’t caught her around the upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She staggered into him and he was hit with a wave of scents, mainly the slightly sour hint of intoxication and residual smoky anger. She smelled like burnt molasses. Fucks sake.

“C’mon, Frail.” He tossed a bill onto the counter and hefted her over his shoulder. “Time to leave.”

**

At first Anna was surprised by the way everybody looked the other way seeing him carry her out the door. For all they knew the pair of them were complete strangers, hell, they practically were complete strangers, but nobody else knew that.

She struggled over his big shoulder, the broad flat of it not even poking her in the gut as he strode out into the damp darkness. “Put me down!” She thumped at his shoulder blade with the flat of her hand and when he ignored her, as predicted, she turned her head and sank her teeth into his neck. Hard. Hard enough to taste blood.

They stopped moving almost instantly and she found herself falling onto the wet tarmac in the parking lot. He glared down at her with a supremely pissed off look on his face, teeth bared and a low, rumbling growl in his chest. Clawed fingers dabbed at the bloody spot on his neck and he sniffed them before licking them clean. The bite wound was gone before he was even done.

Anna felt a cold chill wash over her and she scrambled to stand, only the alcohol made itself known again and she tumbled back to her behind on the road. “I-” she cleared her throat and steeled herself. She was afraid, desperately hoping he didn’t lay his big boot into her but at the same time she was indignant. He fucking dropped her!

“I asked you to put me down.” She said deliberately, slowly.

Creed sneered at her. “Oh, I’m sorry… I thought I heard a rude demand and then you fucking BIT me!” He chuckled, low and dangerous and damned if it didn’t go right to the lowest parts of her gut. His gaze sharpened and nostrils flared and it was then that Anna realised what he was.

“You’re a Feral, aren’t you.” She moaned, humiliated. God, that’s what he meant when he said he could smell her. He could probably even tell her exactly what was in her perfume, right down to the last chemical and base note. She chose not to think about the fact that he could smell what he was doing to her. “God, kill me now.”

Big hands scooped her back up, this time against his chest and he continued walking. “The night is young, Frail.” He scented the air around her once more and grinned as they walked towards her apartment block. “The night is _very_ young….”

 

 


	4. 4.

Her head was pounding to the beat of its own drum when she woke up sometime the next day. She struggled against the urgent need to vomit and slugged her way out of bed onto the floor where she laid for some time until the need to throw up passed. Or at least that was the plan, anyway. As soon as she tried to climb to her hands and knees she started dry heaving, slapped her hand over her mouth and hauled ass into the bathroom just in time.

“Ugh,” she moaned to herself as she went in search of mouthwash. “Never. Drinking. Again.” Her toothbrush clattered into the sink noisily as she poked through the wall unit and in the end when she came up short she squeezed an obscene amount of toothpaste into her open mouth, swished with water and spat it back out. Onto her toothbrush, in her hair and onto her hand. Great.

She struggled to put two and two together as she hand-walked herself out into the open plan living room and pulled up short in confusion, then dawning horror when she saw the mammoth of a man lounging on her rickety little thrift store sofa.

His eyes slanted in her direction, mere slits beneath his brows and he fucking smirked at her. That ass.

“Feelin’ a little worse for wear, Frail?”

She backed up a step or two and bumped into the wall. “People are expecting me,” she insisted weakly. She couldn’t remember letting him into her home but she must have… Right?

Her palms slid flat against the wall and she pressed herself backward again. It felt cool against her overheated skin and she briefly closed her eyes to relish it. When she blinked them open again he was standing right. There.

He was mere feet from her and she hadn’t even heard him move. Jesus. Fear coiled in her belly and he took a deep, slow breath as he slowly advanced on her.

“Now I know you’re lying to me, Frail,” he purred quietly, “I know you lost your job and I know you live all on your own,” he stopped right in front of her and stroked her chin with a long, clawed finger. “I can smell the lie on you.” He cocked his head just like her old house cat she’d had when she was a child had done. “Do you know how you smell to me, Frail?”

Anna shook her head rapidly but never lost eye contact. She wasn’t game enough to let him get the jump on her, not that she could stop him anyway. The man was huge and he felt dangerous. Hell, he’d been fucking stalking her for days now.

Her scent must have changed again because his nostrils flared and he grinned down at her with sharp, terrifying teeth.

“You smell like fucking cookies,” he nosed at the column of her throat and rough stubble scraped her neck, “- ginger and sugar and spice and when you’re scared,” a deep inhale and a low rumble emanated from deep in his chest, “-you smell like burnt sugar. Molasses, when you’re angry.” His purr was almost terrifying and she could feel his body heat leeching into her from where he was standing so close.

It had been a long time since someone of the opposite sex had been this close to her, threatening behavior or not.

It was then that she realized her state of undress.

No pants, no bra and a cropped, ill-fitting t-shirt that barely reached her waist. And bed socks.

He chuckled outright and made a mocking sound. “And now she’s embarrassed.” He looked down between them and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, teeth gleaming in the light. “I wonder, is it the socks…?” he lowered his hand to touch her bare hip, claws extended and digging into the soft flesh until it stung. “Or could it be the miles of bare skin,” he nosed her hair away from her ear, trailing his other hand through the long black strands before finishing it all off with a tug on the ends. Her head jerked to the side and her scent sweetened slightly. He cocked a brow at her.

“My, my, my, Frail… What do we have _here_?” He tugged on her hair again and she bit the inside of her cheek, outwardly calm but inwardly mortified and on the verge of screaming the place down.

She calmly lifted her hand and pushed his bigger one away from her face. “Let me go,” her voice was steady and level, “-or I’ll scream.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, please do,” he crowded in closer and his other hand scraped at her waist. “See, here’s the thing, Frail,” his breath was hot against her cheek. “There is nothing you can do or say that’ll get rid of me now. Scream all you goddamn want, run away, move house, city or state…” His rough cheek scraped against hers. “I will _find_ you, Frail.”

Anna squeezed her eyes shut as his claws scratched over her soft belly and then… nothing. She waited, holding her breath for almost a full minute before she cracked her eyes open and blinked at the empty room.

She rubbed at her mouth with shaking fingers and ran wildly from room to room in search of her _house guest_ only to come up empty handed.

She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled on it as she spun in a quick circle. “Fuck,” she uttered softly, trembling fingers tracing the dark pink lines on her hip, eyes taking in the burst blood vessels around them and the welling blood beneath the surface of the skin. She bit her lip and took a deep, calming breath.

“Shit.”

**

It was a full five days later that Anna found herself laughing at some crude joke her brother had just told her over Skype, feet perched on the coffee table and laptop on her thighs. A glass of red wine was in her hand and she had an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ear.

_“I know it was funny, Anna-Belle, but what’s up? You’re kinda hysterical right now…”_

She blinked and took a calming breath, snagged the smoke and lit it, distracted. “I’m fine, Thomas.”

_“I never asked if you were ok, I can see that you’re ok. I asked what was wrong.”_ She could see his frown deepen as she took a long, deep drag of her cigarette and her eyes rolled skyward in a show of irritation. _“Anna-Belle… Tell me. Has something happened?”_

She took a sip of her drink and mulled briefly over telling him about Creed. “I met someone,” she mumbled around her smoke. “He’s… Different.”

Thomas looked as if he wanted to laugh, but concern took over and he adjusted his camera. _“Different how? I know you’ve not had the best luck-”_

Anna snorted. “Yeah, unlucky is fucking right.” She topped up her glass and sat forward, elbows on knees. “Remember Brian? Brian was a total-”

_“ **Anna**.”_

She shut up immediately. She recognized that tone. It was the very same one that her father had used with her the time she had gone joyriding in his truck and gotten arrested for theft.

“Yes, Thomas?” She deflected, forgetting for a moment that he was visible via camera and wincing.

_“Tell me what you meant by **different** , Anna-Belle.”_ He ordered tersely.

“He’s a Feral.” She blurted out quickly and slugged back the rest of her wine. She was so busy coughing up her guts from the combination of smoke and wine and drinking too quickly that she missed the look of stunned shock on her older brother’s face.

_“But,”_ he paused, _“You’ve never dated a mutant before, Anna.”_

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I never said I was dating him, just said I’d met him.” She rubbed at her throat and coughed a little more, her voice slightly hoarse now.

_“And how is that going for you, Anna, hmm? Do you **want** to date him?”_

She sat for a moment and thought it over in her head, fingers absently spinning rings around the top of her glass. Did she want to date him? Maybe not. He didn’t come across as the dating type but did she want to climb him like some sort of overgrown, massive wild tree? Uh, yes. Yes she did. The problem was though that he frightened her a little bit… He was a frightening man.

“I..” she looked at her feet. “He makes me _feel_ , Thomas.” She offered feebly, refusing to meet his eye.

He was quiet for a moment, excusing himself and returning with a beer. She heard the hiss as he popped the cap. _“You’ve been numb for a while now, Anna-Belle. If he makes it better… Go with it.”_

She looked up, surprised. Thomas had never actively encouraged her to date or be with anyone before, always too busy protecting her and coddling her to see that she was a grown woman. This was unprecedented. Unheard of. Jesus. “Are you serious?”

He snorted into his beer. _“Yeah, I’m surprised too. But,_ ” he took a deep breath, _“If you get serious about him you get to tell Mike.”_

She barked out a laugh and threw her head back. “Fuck you, you can tell him and I’ll move!”

_“Well fuck you very much, Anna-Belle!”_ He laughed in response and lifted his bottle in a toast. _“To new beginnings.”_

 

 

 


	5. 5.

The music was loud and she danced like she had no cares in the world, arms above her head, hips swaying to the haunting heavy guitars as she unpacked yet another box that had been sitting and waiting for weeks. Anna had never really been a neat freak but the piles of boxes sitting around the outskirts of the rooms were staring to grate on her. She’d been in her current apartment for almost four months now and she was only just getting to finishing the unpacking. It was a slow process, finding somewhere to put everything was difficult, but she was getting there.

“Going somewhere, Frail?”

A shrill scream forced its way from her lips and she turned towards the voice, hand raised and ready to toss the stick blender in it at her visitor. How the hell had he gotten in? She lived on the fourth floor, for cripes sake.

“God _damn it,_ Creed! Do you get your kicks from sneaking up on people like some sort of perve?! Jesus!!” She swore loudly, kicking an empty box across the room and stubbing her bare toes against the sofa. “Fuck!”

She didn’t even bother to lament her lack of pants. Again. God, what was it with him? Every time she saw him she was in some kind of state of drunkenness or undress and all he was doing was staring at her. Why was he staring at her?

“What?” She asked dumbly, stick blender still held aloft and music thumping.

“I asked you a question, Frail.”

She hobbled over to the stereo and flicked it off, dumping the blender back in the box and turning to look at him. He looked worn today, rumpled in a way that she hadn’t seen before and there was a strange stain on his coat that disappeared underneath onto his shirt… Was that…? Oh God, was that blood? She bit her lip. No, no it couldn’t be.

… Could it?

“ _Frail_.”

She flinched and a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. “Yes?”  Her mouth was as dry as the desert and her heart skipped a beat. She began to turn away from him and thought better of it and paused to wring her hands together.

His expression darkened and he bared his teeth at her. “Answer the fucking question.”

Anna swallowed and shook her head. “No, I’m not going anywhere.” She gestured to the boxes. “I’m unpacking.”

He poked at the box with a grubby, bloody finger. Oh good god, it _was_ blood on his coat and shirt and Jesus Christ why was he looking at her like that now?! His eyes were dark and glassy and his mouth was open, tongue tasting the backs of his teeth. She realized after a moment that she was probably broadcasting her emotions, the scent of her horror palpable.

She swallowed and took a tentative step closer to him and he flinched backwards when she reached out toward him.

“What?” he snarled and she was moving before she could think twice about it.

“Are you hurt?”

The answering look on his face was something she’d not forget any time soon. “Excuse me?”

She gestured to the stains and then tentatively reached out to touch his dirty hand. His skin was roughened and caked with tacky bodily fluids, blood and god knew what else. She carefully avoided his claws and suddenly got the distinct feeling that he was letting her do something he’d not done in a long time.

He was humoring her.

She bit her lip, anxious. “Are you hurt, Creed?”

He snorted and picked up the forgotten bottle of red on the table. “Not anymore.” His adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed four large gulps of the wine before he dumped the empty bottle on the sofa beside them.

She blinked. “Not anymore? You mean you were but you’re not now, or the blood isn’t yours?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, disinterested as he peered around the room. “Pick one.” He spat and turned back toward her, coat swirling around his legs as he moved. He lifted a grubby hand towards her face and didn’t even hesitate to smear the blood and other fluids across her skin as he took her jaw in long, thick fingers and tipped her head up to look at him.

He inhaled deeply, tasting the warmth of her fear and disgust on his tongue. He could smell her anxiety, slightly sour with a tangy note towards the end. “What’s wrong, Frail? Can’t stomach a little blood?”

She winced as his grip tightened on her face and she tried to pull free but he only held tighter. If he kept going she would have bruises there soon enough. “Depends,” she scratched at his wrist feebly, her blunt nails uselessly skidding off the tacky skin. “Is it yours?”

He cocked his head and scowled down at her. “What difference does it make? Mine or someone elses, blood is blood.”

She finally managed to free herself from his grip, although she suspected it was more him letting her than her succeeding on her own and she flicked at the crusty edge of his coat.

“You fucking stink.” She deflected. “You need a shower.”

He eyed her for a moment then shrugged and peeled off his coat, tossing it in a heap over the back of the sofa. She stared at him mute with shock as he continued disrobing and squeaked and turned as his shirt hit the floor and he began unbuckling his belt.

“What are you doing?!”

She heard a thump, then another one and realized he was stripping off his boots and the rest of his clothes.

“You offered me a shower, Frail. Can’t shower fully clothed.”

She blustered but moved towards the bathroom, grabbing her biggest fluffy towel on the way. She hadn’t in fact offered him a shower but if he wanted to get clean now rather than lounge in bloody, filthy clothes for god knew how long then who was she to stop him? God, she hoped he fit in the cubicle.

She flipped on the water and gathered some things together that he’d need, shampoo, soap and the like and when she turned to call him in she ran face first into his bare chest, her hands coming up to brace herself and meeting the firm plane of his abs.

God, he was massive and built like a tank. He had a scattering of darker hair across his belly and chest and his thighs… Jesus, his thighs were thick with muscle and free from scars, much like the rest of him. He had a large patch of what looked to be new skin over his gut and much to her surprise the dark pink was fading to a paler, more even tone as she looked at it. She ran fingertips over it and bit her lip at his answering growl.

“Uh,” she waved towards the shower, “-showers there. Give me a shout if need anything.” She kept her eyes firmly on his abdomen as she spoke and almost flushed pink when she realized she was still stroking the healing skin. “I’ll just… go.”

His big hand closed around her wrist and tugged none too lightly. “Could always join me, Frail.”

Anna smirked wryly and shook her head, carefully freeing her wrist. “Wouldn’t both fit in there anyway, Creed. Are you hungry? I’ll bet you’re hungry… I’ll get you some food.”

“Always runnin’ away, woman…”

She paused in the doorway and looked back at him as he climbed bare-assed naked into her shower, the water already a ruddy orangey color. “Not running,” she mumbled, unsure if he could hear her. “Not yet.”

 


	6. 6.

The towel barely covered him, she realized belatedly when he reappeared a short while later. The music had been turned back on and the bass thumped lowly, bluesy guitars howling through the apartment and she took a deep swallow of her wine. Creed quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Problem, Frail?”

She studied him carefully and took note of the almost casual way he presented himself, only the tense line of his shoulders giving his discomfort away. She got a sudden rush of ballsy bravado and lifted her glass to her lips again.

“How long has it been since you’ve been naked in front of someone?”

His lip curled up into a dark sneer. “Depends,” he spat, “from the waist down or the whole seven feet?”

She blinked. “Seven- Jesus, I knew you were a big fucker but Jesus H, Christ.” The wine coated her tongue and she licked at the rogue droplet that dripped down her chin, embarrassed. “You missed a bit.” She gestured awkwardly to his neck before turning towards the large dinner plate on the table. It was piled high with roast beef sandwiches, rare of course, cheeses, pepperoni slices and his very own bottle of wine sat nearby, unopened. “Food.”

His head cocked at an angle and he inhaled deeply, her awkward attempt at being hospitable making something inside him squirm in discomfort. It had been a long, long time since someone had wanted him in their home let alone fed him. She smelled genuine.

His hand curled around the yellow towel and his claws dug into his own palm.

“Why?”

She blinked, hazel eyes leaving him. “Well who else is going to give a shit, Creed? I mean you broke into my house, god knows how but you’re obviously injured and hungry so why the fuck not?”

For a moment she thought she’d said the wrong thing but then he finally moved toward her and sat on the edge of the sofa, towel barely covering one thigh let alone the second. One large hand held the place where towel met towel at his hip and the other reached for the food.

She opened the wine bottle for him and handed it over wordlessly before going back into the bathroom to retrieve a wash cloth. She briefly thought about putting on some pants but instead threw on her robe and returned to the living room where he was working his way through the pile of food.

He stabbed at a chunk of cheese with his claw and offered it to her, shrugging when she shook her head. “Suit yourself.” He muttered, eyes following her progress across the room until she stopped behind him. The warm wash cloth dragged over the back of his neck and he stilled, paranoid. “What-?”

“I told you, you missed a bit.”

She swallowed audibly, her hand shaking slightly as she scrubbed at the base of his neck where his hairline stopped. Her lip curled in disgust. “What the hell is this shit? It’s stuck in your hair.”

He resumed eating. “Could be brain matter.” He suggested casually, mouth full of half eaten sandwich. "Might not be."

“Brain matter.” She parroted dully, stopping her attempts to free it from the dark hair. She poked at it with the corner of the wash cloth and hello, lunch. Oh god, it sort of looked that way too. “Jesus, Creed!” The cloth hit the floor as she jumped backward.

He glanced back over his shoulder, nonplussed. “Just leave it.”

Anna squared her shoulders and picked up the wash cloth again, going into the kitchen to rinse it out before returning with a tiny pair of scissors and a freshly washed cloth. The skin on his side had faded back to the normal color and surprise surprise, the plate was empty. She nudged it aside and sat in front of him now, scissors on the table next to her, knees brushing the inside of his thigh.

“Can I ask what happened?” At his blink she powered on. “I mean, you obviously have a healing factor to your mutation but did the other guy?”

He paused with the bottle part way to his mouth, teeth bared and gleaming in the light. His hand tightened on the glass minutely and he gave the slightest of a head shake.

Her stomach turned slightly, but less than she expected. “Ok,” she blew out a breath and picked up the scissors. She showed them to him and smiled at his quirked brow. “Can I use these to get whatever that is out of your hair?”

“Told you, Frail,” he started, “’s probably brain matter and do you really think that those shitty little things would hurt me anyway?”

She swallowed thickly. “How are you still alive?” she asked in a small, frightened voice. The scary thing though is she wasn’t sure whether she was afraid of him or for him. She could see him scenting the air around her and after a moment, eyes dilated, he shrugged.

“Can’t die,” he muttered.

“You mean you’ve tried, then?”

He looked up at her, dark eyes shining and annoyed. “Anyone ever tell you you ask too many fucking questions, Frail?”

She smiled, honest and wide. “I’m the youngest of three – of course someone has told me that, Mr. Creed.” She shuffled forwards, butt on the edge of the table as she looked over his exposed upper body. “How did-?”

He growled, a low menacing sound spilling from his lips and rumbling deep in his chest. “No more questions.”

She sighed deeply. “Alright, if you insist.” She moved around to the back of his head and carefully cut the small mass of tissue out of his hair, scooping it up in the washcloth and throwing the lot away. “Let me just tidy this up so it doesn’t look like a kindergartener has cut your hair…”

“It’s fine, Frail.” He took a deep swig from the bottle and his claws clinked against the glass with a shriek.

“…But.. you have a chunk..” she snipped at the hair carefully for a minute or two and ran her finger over the freshly cropped section with a smile of contentment. She always used to cut Thomas’s hair for him – the local salon wouldn’t allow him inside – and it gave her a sense of achievement to see a job well done. Nobody would be able to pick it. Her fingers were still absently stroking his head and when she realized what she was doing she stopped and took an awkward step back.  “All done.”

It took him a moment to move again, seemingly having stopped breathing altogether but finally he turned his head and ran a clawed hand over her handiwork. “Not bad, Frail.” He murmured.

“I used to cut my brother’s hair for him,” she managed after a moment’s silence. “It’s no problem tidying yours up every now and again if you like.”

He rose from the sofa with a quiet feline grace and dropped the towel on the floor leaving him bare assed naked in front of her. He reached for his clothes and stepped into his trousers, then started to pull his socks on before she’d even had enough time to take everything in. There was miles of skin and muscle and claws. “You think I need tidying up, Frail? Think I’m some pet project?”

Anna screwed up her nose at the thought of him putting those filthy clothes back on in their current state. “Of course not, Creed – it was just a friendly offer.” Actually, the thought of him putting on his clothes again didn’t really appeal at all anyway. He was nice to look at, sue her. “Are you leaving?”

He barely spared her a glance as he shrugged into his coat, stepped into his boots and laced them with a military efficiency that frightened her a little bit. He’d seen war, she realized.

“Don’t worry, Frail,” he loomed over her, all seven foot of him and dragged a sharp claw down the curve of her shoulder, slicing through the fabric of her robe and into her skin. He smiled a sharp toothed grin at her hiss of discomfort. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

She watched as he licked the smear of her blood from his claw as he lumbered out the door and slammed it behind him, her skin breaking out into goose bumps, heart racing.

“Dear god, I’m in trouble,” she mumbled to herself and after a moment’s pause turned back to her unpacking, music cranked back up and robe on the floor by the forgotten towel.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. 7.

It was weeks before she saw him again, so long in fact that she thought he’d lost interest and had left the area. There had been no word, murmur or whisper of him and she found herself at a loss. Job hunting had left her tired and feeling degraded; there was no way she was taking up the offer she’d gotten from the local strip club, even if it was only bar work. Topless bar work. She took another sip of her drink, old navy rum and slouched at the bar, hands buried in her hair.

“You gunna prop up the bar all night, sweetheart, or do you want to make some cash?”

She blinked at the barman, a tall piece of work with what looked to be red irises and floppy white blonde hair. “Excuse me?”

He shot her a crooked grin and gestured to where he was standing behind the bar. “Got an opening,” his tone was casual and friendly, “Noticed you weren’t too bothered by the clientele and heard you were looking for a job…?”

Anna pulled herself up straight and eyed him with a squinted stare. “Do I have to be topless?”

He gave her that crooked grin once more. “Be my guest, but it’s not part of the job description.”

Her squint gradually turned into a wide eyed smile. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gestured to the end of the bar and walked over, letting her through the locked door. She only tripped once and smiled gratefully when he handed her a tall glass of ice water. “Sober up, ok? Regulations state no drinking on the job.”

She took a long drink of the water, nodding. “Thanks…?”

“Kurt,” he offered, shaking her hand. His skin was abnormally hot and it felt like she had her hands outstretched into a bundle of licking flames. She could practically feel the sweat drops forming on the back of her neck.

“Anna.”

He nodded. “Right. So the deal is its wage and tips you get given you get to keep- hundred percent.” He gave her a quick guided tour of the bar and out the back where she couldn’t help but notice the abundance of security cameras. She shot Kurt a curious look and he shrugged, a little huffy. “We get a lot of vandalism ‘round here, not because of the area but because we’re a mutant friendly bar. I mean, everyone is welcome but we have a reputation these days.” He looked her over. “Anyway, come on back inside – its cold out.”

Anna followed him back inside into the warmth of the building and gratefully accepted the offered apron, took her tray and notepad and thus began the start of her new job.

Most of the customers were friendly enough and willing to chat but there were a few that she merely got the drinks and left them alone. She quickly learned that those ones were the great tippers, happy enough to give her their money but none of their time and she was ok with that. Others would call her over and holler at her until she would appear at table-side with her patented smile and a ‘what now, Jerry?’.

It was a week later when she came on shift with Kurt again that she finally asked him how he knew she was on the hunt for a job.

“Word gets around.”

She frowned at that. “But you didn’t even know my name, Kurt.”

He shrugged and wiped out yet another glass before returning it to the rack. The dishwasher was almost empty now. “I’ve known your name for a while now, Anna. That first night you came in and left with Sabretooth, well, we all thought you were done for, but low and behold you show up alive and well in my bar a week later.” He pointed at her, leaning in. “You’re a lucky kid, you know? That guy aint nice to no one.”

“Sabretooth?”

He blinked at her. “Yeah, big guy, wears a lot of black, gun for hire..?”

Gun for hire. Wears a lot of black. Big guy. Anna blinked as her mind supplied her with a vision of the black clad Creed, covered in blood and gore, poking around her apartment with his dirty bloody hands. “Oh,” she mumbled finally. “Him.”

Kurt looked down at her. “Hey, you ok, kid? He didn’t hurt you did he?”

“What?”

“Sabretooth – did he hurt you? I mean there’s not much I can do but I could talk to him… Maybe scorch him up a bit?”

Anna laughed softly. “I doubt that would help, Kurt, but no… No, he didn’t hurt me. Scared me stupid, but never hurt me.” A change of subject was in order. “So what’s your mutation, Kurt? I’m willing to bet it has something to do with fire.”

He looked sideswiped by the sudden change of subject but after a moment he smiled. “I’m pyro-kinetic.”

“Like that kid in that movie from years ago?”

He nodded. “Yeah, something like that. Woke up when I was ten in a pool of sweat and smouldering sheets.” His smile was nostalgic. “My poor Ma almost had a coronary when the smouldering turned into dead set flames.” He laughed. “What’s yours?”

Anna frowned. “I don’t have a mutation,” she shrugged. “My older brother has the monopoly on that one, I’m afraid.”

“Wait,” Kurt looked gobsmacked. “You mean there are multiple children and only one has the X gene?”

“That’s about it.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “What’s your brother do then?”

She sniggered to herself. “Thomas is a goddamn merman. Spines, webbed feet, gills, the whole nine yards.”

For a second Kurt looked like he was about to laugh, then sobered. “Seriously? He’s got gills?”

She nodded. “Yeah, sure,” she moved to wipe down the counter and looked back at him. “Is that strange to you?”

He shrugged, “I mean, it’s not the norm, but it isn’t strange I suppose. Hell, I can start fires with my mind and Sabretooth.. hell, he’s a whole other kettle of fish.”

Anna hummed to herself, nodding. “What’s his deal?”

Kurt looked torn. “Truth be told,” he said after a minute, “-nobody is one hundred percent sure what his story is, Anna. He’s been around as long as I can remember, comes and goes as he pleases and doesn’t keep much company. As far as I know he’s a loner, Sweetheart.” He gave her a pointed look. “Was a loner.”

She scoffed and went back to her previous task. “Still is, Kurt. I haven’t been graced with his company in weeks now. No big deal.” Right?

She bit her lip as Kurt turned away to go unlock the doors. She didn’t care where he was or what he was, who he was or what he did. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

 


	8. 8.

_There’s a devil waiting outside your door,_

_It’s bucking and braying and pawing at the floor_

_And he’s howling with pain and crawling up the walls.._

_There’s a devil waiting outside your door.._

Anna had been working at the bar for almost six weeks. In that time the bar had been broken into twice, vandalized multiple times with hate speech and she was pretty sure she’d seen someone taking pictures of the customers and other staff as they came and went. So far nothing had come of it but she was concerned, deeply concerned that someone was going to get hurt. She had come to know all the regulars well and hell, they paid her rent with their generous tips but disregarding that fact she actually liked them.

Even the grumpy ones.

It was her rostered day off, well, weekend off and as it was a bright, sunny day she decided to walk to the grocers and stock up on some food, then she was going to skype Thomas because it had been a while since she’d seen his pretty face. The last time she’d spoken to him face to face was almost two months earlier, when the whole ‘creed’ thing had happened but then he’d dropped off the face of the earth so she supposed that she should update him on the total non-situation.

The trip to the store was uneventful for the most part, a smile here, wave there but then she was on her way home and things got strange. There was a man sitting outside the gates to her apartment block, fiddling with an expensive looking camera, cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth and dark hair covering his eyes. She kept walking toward him, unthinking and as soon as the click-click of her heeled boots were audible he looked up and scrambled to his feet.

“Anna Robertson?”

She didn’t even have the chance to look up properly before the flash went off in her face and she recoiled, stunned. “Dude!” She cried, shaking her head rapidly, “What the actual fuck is your problem?”

He pressed on, ignoring her cries of annoyance. “Are you Anna Robertson??” He pressed, lifting the camera again.

Her gut clenched and she felt ill all of a sudden. Lie, she thought, lie, Anna. “No. Who the hell is she? And who the fuck are you? I’m calling the cops.” She reached into her pocket and palmed her phone and the man grabbed her elbow.

“Now, now, lets not be hasty.”

She looked at the hand on her arm pointedly. “I’ll have you remove that hand before I do it for you,” she smiled serenely at him. “And now I’m definitely calling the cops.”

He didn’t release her. “I’ll let you go if you tell me which apartment she lives in? That’s all I want, Miss…?”

“I’m not telling you anything, you witless vulture! Let me the fuck go or you’re going to get a painful, permanent reminder as to why you don’t assault a lady!” She let go of the phone and grabbed her keys instead, threading them between her fingers. One of the many things her brother Mike had taught her was to use her keys as a weapon if she was in danger and she could get to them. Aim for the soft areas, he’d said, scratch, stab and gauge.

He looked down at her, simpering and full of bravado. “You wouldn’t dare..”

She stomped her heel down onto the top of his foot and when he bent over slightly as he was jerking back she swung a closed fist at his cheek, house keys protruding from between her fingers. The brass keys didn’t do much damage, but the newly cut silver ones slashed into his face and left her fingers sticky with blood as she pulled away.

Oh dear God, she thought as he backed off, that actually worked! “Now get lost, I’m calling the goddamn police! The building has security cameras you dumb shit – I’m sure they’ll find the footage most informative!”

The man glared at her, hand over his eye and took a step backwards, then another and turned to leave.

“You’ll regret this..”

Anna smiled. “Oh I really don’t think I will.” She waited until he was long gone before she keyed her code into the building’s security system and trekked her way up the stairs, no elevator in the building, to the fourth floor where her apartment was. The door slipped open and she slammed it shut behind her, dumping her bag of groceries on the counter and headed straight for the sink.

“Yours?”

She jumped, mouth opening to scream but a large, hot hand closed over her mouth and she breathed in the almost forgotten scent of gunpowder and smoke. Her whole body sagged and she began to shake, the reality of what had just happened hitting her.

“N-no,” she uttered as she looked at her bloody hand. “Some creep downstairs was taking photos of me and then he grabbed me and wouldn’t let me go..” she was quickly dissolving into panic. Her breathing hitched and she struggled to control it, hyperventilating instead.

Behind her, Creed went eerily still. “Describe him.” He grabbed her hand before she could dunk it under the water and he gave her a shake, slapping her across the face. “Describe the guy, Anna!”

She turned and sucked in a long, deep breath and held it for a moment. Her cheek stung from the slap but it was what she needed. She looked up at him over her shoulder, face pale and wet from tears she hadn’t been aware she was shedding. “What?”

He turned her around to face him and took her chin in a clawed hand. “Describe. Him. To me.” He took her by the wrist and lifted her bloody fingers to his nose, inhaling the scent of the coppery blood that covered them. His eyes slipped shut as he inhaled one more time and then he moved to push her hand underneath the spray of the water.

“He was tall, not as tall as you or Kurt, but probably about six feet? Dark hair, five o’clock shadow, medium build. Had an expensive camera with him and was smoking what smelled to be a clove cigarette..?”

Creed nodded. “Good, Frail, good. Anything else?”

She nodded, showing him her keys. “My brother always told me to use my keys as a weapon,” she wrapped them in her knuckles and showed him. “I hit him in the face, like this.” She demonstrated and felt a warm flutter in her gut when he gave her a look of approval. His hand was still on her wrist and the other had curled over her shoulder. His claws dug into the soft skin for a moment then released her.

“He knew my name, Creed.”

He looked at her, eyes fading from amber to a dark, chocolate brown. “Oh, he did, now?”

She nodded, wiping her now clean hands. “He knew my first and last name and that I lived in the building. I told him I didn’t know any Anna and then he demanded to know which apartment ‘Anna’ lived in. Wouldn’t let me go until I hit him.”

He loomed over her, eyes dark and full of a fury she wasn’t quite sure what to think of. “Did he hurt you?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, wringing her hands. “Not really – well, sort of. He scared me and not the way you do. “

He looked startled for a split second, then schooled his expression into one of nonchalance. “Explain.”

“You… Do I have to do this, Creed? You know you frighten me and turn me on all at the same time so why make me say it out loud?” She blinked. Well, shit. She HAD just said it aloud. “Can we pretend I never said that? Please?”

His nostrils flared and he stepped even closer. Clawed fingers took her chin and he tilted her head up to look at him, her cheeks ablaze with embarrassment. He studied her for a moment and slowly backed away, heading for the door without another word.

She huffed angrily. “Where are you going??” God, he was such an asshole.

He waved a huge hand at her and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘hunting’ and the door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone to think about what the hell had just happened. The back of her head bounced off the low cupboard door behind her and she closed her teary eyes.

“Fuck.”


	9. 9.

The call to Thomas had gone just about as well as she’d thought it would. She had told him about the new job that she loved (he was excited for her) and she’d mentioned that Creed had come back on the scene (he was quietly concerned) and then she’d told him about the photographer.

She’d never seen him so angry.

_“What the fuck kind of area are you living in, Anna-Belle?! And don’t you dare tell me that it’s fine and dandy because any situation where you have to physically defend yourself with a set of fucking house keys is not ok, Anna! It is NOT ok! Stop trying to talk me down, it isn’t going to fucking work!”_

She had spent another forty minutes trying to calm him down but in the end he’d ended the call with a terse goodbye and a lot of muttering. A lot of angry muttering. Honestly, trying to placate her brothers was like trying to baptize a cat; it was fucking impossible. After that mess of a skype call she had curled up on the sofa, television on mute and the stereo on low, bottle of vodka by her side. She had dozed off after a short while, head pounding and only awoke when the apartment door swung open some hours later.

She scrambled to her feet, tripping over the leg of her pants (yay for wearing them!) and tumbled back onto her backside, eyes bleary and bloodshot. She blinked rapidly, desperate to clear her head and finally gave up but only after apologizing to the sofa for falling on it. Perhaps it was the half a bottle of vodka?

“You smell like a brewery floor.”

She looked up and up and up and finally got to his face. “Well aren’t you charming,” she muttered sourly, “Shame your personality isn’t as pretty as your face.”

“The fuck you talking about, Frail?” He reached for her and tugged her to her feet, shaking her slightly. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Me? What the hell is wrong with me?!” She wrenched her wrist from his grip, hissing as his claws scraped across her skin and left pin-prick droplets of fresh blood in their wake. “I’m being stalked by some strange little man with a camera, my brother is mad at me and being stupidly over protective and you! You keep breaking into my apartment for god only knows what reason!” She clamored up onto the sofa so she could look him in the eye and cursed clumsily when she found he was still a head taller than her. She poked him in the chest and marveled for a moment at how firm he was, then shook her head and took another swig of her drink. Or tried to, at least. He snatched the bottle from her hand and shook his head.

“Why do you keep breaking into my apartment, _Mr Creed_?”

He took a step closer and took a hearty swig of the vodka for himself, eyes drifting down to where her finger, now hand, rested on his chest. He cocked his head and gave her a mildly toothy grin. “Maybe,” he began, “-maybe, it’s the warm welcome I always get? Or could it be the way you’re never wearing any pants?” he stifled a snort at her sudden look of panic and the way her eyes darted toward her legs to make sure she was clothed. He bared his teeth in a grin when she scowled up at him and gave him a shove.

“You’re an ass.”

He let out a bark of gravelly laughter. “Frail, you don’t know the half of it.” He schooled his face into a more serious expression, eyes growing whiskey gold and amber. “I lost him. Three blocks down the bastard must have gotten into a car.” His big hand dug into a deep pocket and he presented her with a crushed cigarette butt. “Found a bunch of these outside the building and a couple a few blocks down… Got his stink all over ‘em.”

Anna stared at the remnants of the cigarette in his huge hand, claws curled up around it and she swallowed thickly, suddenly a lot more sober when she remembered the man outside.

“You can track people?”

He cocked his head at her. “Feral, Frail.” He purred, crowding her. “Unfortunately my talents are limited when said mark gets into a fucking car and speeds off… Even when he’s in a bloody mess.”

She felt her face flush at his close proximity. She could smell smoke and wood, something metallic and cheap cigarettes clinging to his clothes, like he’d been smoking heavily.

“You smell like an ashtray.” She blurted and he quirked a brow at her.

“And as I previously stated, _you_ smell like a brewery floor.”

She snorted and hopped down from the sofa, snatching the bottle back from his limp hand. “Such, an ass.” She pointed at him with great purpose, her finger stabbing him in the belly as she looked up at him. “But _what_ an ass.”

He cocked his head at her and gently pried the bottle back from her fingers. His claws clinked against the glass and he inhaled deeply as she shivered. “You’re an ass girl, huh..” He almost sounded amused, his mouth in a thin line and she swore she saw his cheek twitch as if he were trying not to laugh at her.

“Yep,” she quipped, nodding clumsily. “Just want to sink my teeth into it and _bite down_.” She snapped her teeth together and rolled her shoulders. Merely thinking about it made her skin warm and gave her the shivers. Biting him meant he’d be lacking clothes and fuck knew she’d already seen him naked. Well, glimpsed him naked. She’d been too distracted to really appreciate the view at the time but she knew for a fact that he had a fine rear end, all firm and muscular, round in all the right places.

Creed stared at her, eyes that whiskey color and shoulders tense. “Frail…” he warned softly.

She powered on, just the dangerous side of drunk. “Why do you hide that beneath the huge coat, anyway? It’s a _gift_ , Creed, _a gift_ _from God_.”

“I hardly think God has anything to do with it at all, woman.” He scoffed and threw himself onto the sofa, thighs spread and she could just see herself crawling up between them and snagging the zip of his fly between her teeth. Maybe he’d tie her hands behind her back for good measure, make her use her mouth on him and _Jesus,_ wouldn’t that be something?

She balled her hand into a fist and rubbed it against the outside of her thigh, distracted by the way he was watching her. She felt like a rabbit being stalked by a fox, vulnerable and her heart in her throat yet at the same time she was excited by it.

Creed’s nostrils flared slightly and he slouched even lower, head hanging back slightly onto the back of the sofa. “C’mere, Frail.” He curled a clawed finger in her direction and she felt her feet moving against her own accord. She stopped a couple of steps in front of him, level with his spread knees and looked at him, bottle forgotten on the table behind her.

“Now,” he began, “As tempting as you smell right now,” she flushed pink and he nudged her with his boot, thick thigh bumping her leg, “-and fuck knows you do, I’d really like to talk to you about this cretin who was camped out downstairs waiting for you today..”

Anna groaned, irritated. Damn it, he just had to go and spoil her filthy thoughts with his realism.

“I don’t know who he was, I’ve never seen him in my life.”

Creed cocked his head at her and hauled himself upright, nose level with her collar bone and took a deep, lengthy sniff. His nose trailed up the column of her throat and up under her ear, the stubble on his cheek brushing her neck and cheek as he went. Anna swallowed thickly.

“I swear.”

He purred into her neck and made a thoughtful humming sound. “Tell me, Frail.. Who do you know that would send that little parasite after you? Think hard, Anna.”

She could feel his warm breath beneath her ear on her skin, a clawed hand tucking her hair back behind her shoulder and trailing over the exposed skin there. She gave an undignified whine when his claws dug into warm flesh behind her shoulder blade. “Can’t think..” she mumbled, face aflame.

He nosed at her ear. “Why not?”

She steeled herself and took a long step backwards, away from him. “I can’t think while you’re touching me, Creed.” She explained softly, folding her arms across her waist to hug herself. “You’re distracting.”

He sat back and eyed her like a puzzle that was missing a dozen crucial pieces. “Think, Frail. Think.”

She wracked her brain trying to place him but he’d given her no clue as to what he’d wanted and after a few minutes of pacing and chewing her thumbnail to the quick, she threw her hands up and shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know, ok! I don’t really know anyone here… There’s you, Kurt, the guys at the bar…”

He rose to his feet, all seven feet of him looming over her and a shiver ran down her spine at the look in his eyes. “Well then,” he stepped closer. “Looks like you’re staying with me until we figure this shit out, Frail.”

Her brain stopped completely. Stay with him? As in… living under the same roof all day every day? “Why do you care?” She asked after a while. The purr he let out rumbled through his solid chest and she shivered in response.

“Call it a vested interest, Frail..” He flicked at a rogue strand of her hair with long fingers and tugged on another, grinning as her scent sweetened and took on that familiar spicy note. “Make a decision, your place or mine?”


	10. 10.

His eyes glittered dangerously at her, eyebrow cocked and incredulous. “I’m sorry,” he took a lumbering step closer and she in turn took one back, “-did you say.. ‘ ** _no_** ’?”

She tipped her chin up at him and squared her shoulders, mouth taking on the stubborn set that she’d learned from her brothers. She swallowed back her nervous laughter. Shit. Don’t laugh at him, Anna, she thought, he won’t like that at all.

“I’m not being scared out of my own home, Creed.” She argued back, stomach twisting itself in knots. “I barely know you and I’m not going to just pick up and move in with you because of some perceived threat-”

“It’s not perceived, Frail. He’s fucking stalking you.”

She bit back a snort. “And you aren’t?” Immediately she regretted the words at the look on his face, a combination of pissed off and affronted. She held up her hands, eyes shut. “Look, I’m not even sure Creed is your actual name and you want me to move in with you? Why? Why are you so interested in keeping me safe when you don’t even know my last name? We barely know one another, Creed. Barely.”

He eyed her silently for a minute or less and chewed at the inside of his cheek visibly. His hands were clenched in tight fists at his sides, always a good sign. Great.

“Tell me then,” he offered finally, “tell me your last name and I’ll tell you mine.”

She blinked at him, surprised. He wasn’t the most forthcoming person with any details, really and now he was offering a trade? “Robinson.” She blurted, stunned.

He sucked at his teeth, wincing. “Victor.”

She eyed him owlishly. “Your name is Victor?”

“Yes.” He replied tersely, looming over her. “Can we go now?”

She did laugh at that. “Uh, let me think, no.” At his annoyed expression, “I still don’t know why you want me out of here.”

He growled low in his chest. “Today its harassment and pictures, tomorrow who knows.. Do you really want to be here when he finds out you ARE Anna Robinson and you cut him up for the fuck of it, hmm?” He advanced on her slowly, like a big cat stalking his prey. “Tick-tock, Frail. Either you come with me or I leave you here like a sitting fucking duck to be picked off.”

She scowled up at him, belligerent and still drunk. “I don’t want your pity protection, Victor.”

Obviously it was the wrong thing to say.

He let out an angry snarl, something she’d only ever heard in the animal world and she cringed, eyes tightly shut and face turned to the side waiting for the blow. The slamming of the door startled her out of her fear and she blinked only to find him gone and she was alone with the lingering scent of gunpowder and smoke, vodka bottle glugging out on the floor. Well fuck.

 

**

“Jesus fucking Christ on a pole!” She cursed and threw the wet hand towel across the bar. She’d just dropped the second tray of the night, the bar was full to capacity and HE was sitting in the corner, watching.

Great.

She knelt down and picked through the shards of glass, dumping the larger ones on the tray and carefully scooped up the smaller ones into her beer soaked palm. At first she didn’t notice the sting but then she saw the blood welling up the side of her finger and she dropped the tray again. Thankfully she was close to the ground but the tray she’d been balancing on her knee hit the floor with a crash and several cries of ‘taxi!’ went up throughout the bar. Her face felt warm. She’d never dropped anything on the job before and it had just had to happen now when Victor was watching her every move.

She swallowed down her embarrassment and set to cleaning up the mess only to be knocked aside by a passing customer and she slipped straight into the mess of glass and beer, hands splayed out flat on the floor. She swore again, lifting her bloody hands off the bar floor and pushing herself to her feet. “I’m fine, jackass.” She snapped, not particularly caring who heard her swearing. All she cared about was that she was bleeding and embarrassed. For fuck’s sake. He didn’t even help her up or stop to see who he’d knocked over!

A throat cleared next to her and Anna paused, eyes following the black clad legs up from boots to hip and she didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. “Fuck off, Creed.” She mumbled, picking the glass out of her hands or trying to at least. When he didn’t leave she looked up at him, oblivious to the eyes on them from behind the bar and scowled. “I said-”

“I heard you,” he growled as he grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her aside, out of the puddle of alcohol and into the quieter hall leading to the break room. The sound of the packed house died down and she suddenly realised her heart was hammering in her throat and her hands were stinging as if she’d caught one of Thomas’ spines by accident. God, it burned.

“Let me.. go.” She trailed off as he began picking shards of glass from the heel of her palm with a very sharp, very long claw. He dutifully ignored each wince.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “Says you.”

He sighed, annoyed. “Jesus, this again? You really want to get into this now, Frail? Really?!” His rough hand on her wrist tightened and she jerked as he fished out a particularly large splinter of glass, swears tumbling from her mouth. “God, shut up, woman!”

She cried out in pain, the alcohol burning its way into the shallower cuts and god, she really smelled like a brewery floor this time. She tried to pull her hand away so she could shake the pain away but his grip was tight and he held fast, tugging her closer when she tried to back off.

“Victor-”

He paused, eyes glinting amber in the low light. “Do you ever, and I mean ever, keep your mouth shut?” He asked, voice low and rough. His claws dug into the fleshy part of her palm and fingers squeezed at the wounds until it was just blood oozing from them. She bit back another cry at his sharp look. “Don’t get me wrong, Frail, I’d very much like it if you screamed for me, but this is a bit excessive.” And then he leaned down and licked a wet stripe across the bloody, cut up skin.

Any reply she had to that died on her lips, her breath catching in her throat. Her brain shuddered to a stop and she watched with morbid fascination as he bathed her hand with his tongue. The sting turned into an itch and she felt the familiar warmth that she’d come to associate with him being near her or touching her pooling in her belly. She squirmed and opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing but all that came out – to her horror – was a breathy gasp.

She could feel his mouth curl up into a grin against her open palm.

“You,” she managed after a moment, “That’s been on the floor…”

He huffed a laugh against her skin and shook his head. “Can’t get sick, Frail. Can’t get sick and can’t die.” He sounded slightly off by the end of his sentence, almost bitter and she stopped trying to pull her hand away and stared at him.

Her voice was quiet and just a little wobbly. “Victor…”

He looked up from her hand, eyes sharp. “Don’t pity me, woman. Don’t.” He warned, letting her hand loose and taking a step back.

She reached out for him, wincing as her torn up hand caught the roughened cuff of his woolen coat as he was walking away. “Wait…”

He eyed her hand, reply terse. “What?”

She very deliberately let go of his sleeve and pulled her hand away. “Thank you, Victor.” She touched the wounds on her hands, no longer as sore oddly enough and frowned, brows drawn in tight.

“He’s still around, Frail.” There was a pregnant pause. “He’s been around your block more than once.”

Anna closed her eyes, fraught. She had suspected as much, that strange itchy feeling on the back of her neck an almost constant presence since Victor had left days ago. “You’ve been watching me?”

“You’re not stupid, Frail.” He stepped closer, she could smell him looming over her and could feel his body heat when he breathed in her ear. “You know I’ve been around and you know he has too. Evidently, not at the same time.”

She blinked and gasped at how close he’d gotten. Her fingers tangled in the lapel of his coat and she refused to meet his gaze. “He’s still there…”

“He’s still there.” He confirmed. “Now,” a clawed finger lifted her chin to look at him and he inhaled deeply. “Are you going to let me help you, or are you going to continue being a pain in my ass?”

 

 

 


	11. 11.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” He demanded furiously. “Do you have a death wish?!”

Anna sighed and rubbed at her forehead with trembling fingertips. “Look,” she started, “like I said last time… I can’t be scared out of my own home, Creed-”

“So you’re going to go back there and sleep with a goddamn empty Galliano bottle again because you’re afraid?”

She blinked at him. “How did you know I did that?” At his nonplussed look she rolled her eyes and huffed. “Right, stalker. Anyway, I won’t be forced to leave the only place that’s ever been mine, Creed just because there’s some strange little man taking photographs outside of my building.”

“If I can get in, Frail, so can he.” He pointed out lowly.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m not leaving, Victor.” At his menacing growl she flinched, blinked and shook her head, steeling herself. “I said **_no_.** ”

**

She stood a few steps into her apartment and looked at the disaster zone before her. Her sofa was upturned, papers were all over the floor and every drawer in the place had been turned out, contents spilled all over the counter tops and further.

“What the fuck..?”

She took a slow step inside and the floor crunched under foot, broken glass from the only picture frame in the entire apartment scattered just inside the doorway.

“I told you.”

Anna spun on her heel and looked up at Creed, eyes wide and furious. “You ‘told’ me?! **_You told me_**?” She took a step toward him and jabbed him in the gut, jaw clenched painfully. “Tell me again, Victor,” she fumed, “Tell me again how someone was going to break into my home and trash the place! Tell me again about how some creepy little cretin with a camera is going to ruin my fucking life! And whilst you’re at it, you can fucking tell me why the hell you’re so interested!”

Instead of replying he pushed past her and moved deeper into the apartment, nostrils flared and shoulders tense. She made to follow him but he held up a solitary finger that made her pause.

“What..?”

He sniffed deliberately and a low, rumbling growl that began in his belly rolled out of him. “He’s,” a slow step towards the bedroom, “-still,” another, “-here.”

As if on cue there was a crash, glass breaking and Anna let out a sharp, shrill sound of terror and leapt backwards towards the open door and hallway. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head when Victor slammed his way into the bedroom, claws extended and took out a huge chunk of the door frame, teeth bared.

He appeared no more than five seconds later and shot her a look so full of malice that she shrunk back and her shoulder bumped the wall. “Go,” he insisted. “Go back to Kurt and tell him what happened.” Almost as an afterthought he sniffed, eyes downcast, “He’ll keep you safe.”

She hiccupped, something that happened when she was afraid and easily caught the Galliano bottle he tossed to her. “But what about you?”

He moved towards the shattered window by the fire escape in her empty bedroom and looked out into the night, “Go, Frail.”

“Vict-”

“ ** _GO_**!”

**

Hot, hot hands stroked her upper arms through the thin blanket around her shoulders, just the way her father used to do when she was upset and she accepted the cup of sludge Kurt liked to call coffee with a timid smile. She took a sip and gagged, it was cold and Kurt took the mug from her with a sheepish wince and within seconds there was steam coiling from the top of the liquid. He handed it back to her with a flourish and took a small step backward, giving her some space.

“What happened, Anna?”

She opened her mouth and a helpless whine slipped out, tears pricking at the back of her eyes unbidden. “I,” she stammered, “I opened the door and my place was trashed.” She looked up at her boss. “Victor could still smell him, said he was still there when we got back. What if,” she blinked rapidly, “What if he hadn’t been with me? What if I’d sent him away and… I would have walked into someone ransacking my apartment, Kurt.”

He hummed, brows furrowed and eyes a pitch dark red. “Sounds like you did anyway, Anna.” He shot her a crooked grin. “And it’s ‘Victor’ now? Sabretooth has a name, pet?”

She huffed, rolling her eyes but not meeting his. “Of course he has a name, Kurt. Everyone has a name. I’m sure his mother thought long and hard what to call him so don’t be an asshole and make out that he’s some kind of monster!” She snarled finally, her voice growing louder and louder until she’d said her piece.

He startled, mouth in a thin line. “Of course,” he apologized softly. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

She sniffed, her rings clicking against the hot mug as she adjusted her hands. “Well you did.”

“So I see,” He studied her for a long moment. “Anna,” he started, “Is there something going on between you two?” He prodded gently. “It’s not my place to interfere if there is, but he’s not a nice person, Sweetheart. If he’s being good to you, it’s because he wants something.”

She snorted into her coffee. “Oh I know what he wants.” She mumbled, cheeks flushing and shoes scuffing against the floor. “Just don’t know why.”

He folded his arms across his chest, reminiscent of her brothers and he eyed her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Anna. No reason for him not to be attracted to you.” At her startled look he grinned, “No need to worry ‘bout me, girly. My wife is a beautiful woman too, but I know that look. That dark compulsive need to own another person because you’re intrigued and fascinated. He watches you, Anna. Watches you all the damn time like he’s going to steal you away and keep you in a tower for the rest of goddamn time.”

She blinked slowly and the blanket slipped from her shoulder. “I think I need to call the police about my apartment,” she deflected. “Do I need to call the police?”

He frowned but let it go. “Wait and see what your friend says when he comes to pick you up.” Kurt offered. “Wait and see.”

She sipped at her coffee tentatively and nodded, eyes drawn to the black glass bottle by the door, the one Creed had thrown to her before he’d disappeared into the night. Kurt had taken it from her and set it down when she’d barrelled into the bar, hair a wild halo around her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted it back. Despite Creed’s faith in the barman’s ability to keep her safe, she wanted it back in her hands and damn it she wanted to _feel_ safe again.

Kurt followed her gaze and moved to retrieve the bottle. “I’ve been where you are before, Anna,” he explained quietly. “That violated feeling…? It goes away eventually but you might want to think about moving.”

She looked up at him, doe eyed and pale, fingers clutching the mug in one hand, bottle in the other. “Where though?” She chewed her lip, fighting back tears. “God, wait until Thomas hears about this.” She muttered with a dry laugh. “Victor keeps telling me I’m not safe.”

Kurt shot her a concerned look. “Anna, if he’s telling you that your current place isn’t safe there must be a reason.” Arms folded across his chest again and she could see the heat waves coming from his hands, his eyes glowing ever so slightly, like an ember in an almost dead fireplace. Great, she thought, he was distressed now too. “What aren’t you telling me?” He demanded.

So she told him. She told him everything that had been going on, the stalking (Victor first), then the photographer, then the menacing behavior and finally her ransacked apartment. He stared at her, eyes narrowed and face impassive until the very end.

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?!” He spat suddenly and she had a flashback to earlier in the night when Victor had said the same thing to her. “What the hell, Anna?? I kind of get the whole Creed situation, odd as fuck courting rituals of Ferals included, but this other guy? Who the fuck is he and why the hell is he targeting you all of a sudden? Who have you pissed off?”

“Nobody! I haven’t done anything to anyone and what is that supposed to mean? What courting rituals?”

He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, kid, I’m surprised he hasn’t dropped a dead bird on your feet and pulled on your pigtails yet. He’s fucking into you and that might be a bit confusing for him because generally, his kind are lone wolves… Or cats, as the case may be.” At her stunned look he continued. “You’re the Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf, Anna. And I’m not talking about the Disney version.”


	12. 12.

It was almost a full three hours later when Creed reappeared in the empty bar. She was helping clean up after a super busy night, hands wrinkled and sore from scrubbing the bar top and mop in hand when she felt that familiar heat in her belly, the strange feeling of being watched. Looking up, she caught sight of him in the doorway, bag slung over a massive shoulder and an eerily blank look on his face. She dropped the mop, startled.

“Did you catch him?” she wondered aloud, “Is he gone?”

Creed walked further into the bar and set down the bag he was hefting on one of the empty tables. He frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

“She wouldn’t stay out the back,” Kurt explained from nowhere, “Couldn’t sit still.”

Anna picked up the fallen mop and her hands wrung around the wooden handle painfully. “Please, Victor…”

He nodded towards the bag. “Everything I could fit in there is yours. Computer, photos, clothing..”

“You’re not answering the question,” she murmured, eyes glassy. “You didn’t catch him, did you?”

He eyed her with a look she was sure he wasn’t used to wearing. “No,” he answered after a moment. “No, I didn’t.” He sounded angry and she knew that he wasn’t that inept so someone had been waiting for him, someone had been outside her apartment on the street or in the nearby alley waiting for whomever it was that had trashed her place so they could make a getaway.

She nodded, swallowing thickly. “Alright,” she peered into the bag and saw the photos of her family on top of the pile of clothing. The pictures of her mother and father holding her as a baby, her brothers bracketing her at the beach the day before Thomas’ mutation had presented.. Her on her graduation day with Michael. Everything was there. “Alright,” She said softly, looking at the pictures, “Alright, I’ll come with you.”

**

The car journey had been a seemingly lengthy one, the night growing lighter as they went. By the time they arrived at Creed’s home – or at least she assumed it was his home – she could see the sun creeping over the horizon and she could hear water sloshing against the massive pylons of the nearby docks.

“Up, Frail.” He nudged her and she roused from her partial slumber and slipped out the open door, feet hitting the gravel after a moment’s free-fall. It was a big truck, high off the ground and entirely to scale with its owner. What caught her off guard though was the deep, forest green paint work. Honestly she’d somewhat expected it to be black and it had in fact looked that way when she’d climbed inside back at Kurt’s bar.

She stumbled upright and clung to the side of the vehicle, blinking ever so slowly when a large hand steadied her and guided her in the direction of an old ramshackle looking warehouse.

“Jesus, Creed,” she mumbled, looking up, and up and up. The place looked a little less than loved and there was a massive set of doors on the far left side that had a smaller, albeit still large doorway cut into it. “I never picked you for a harbor views type.” As she followed him, “Where are we anyway?”

“Far enough away for you to be safe, close enough to drive to work.” He answered gruffly as he walked ahead, eyes on the set of keys in his hand. He must have felt safe here, she realized, he wasn’t even checking his surroundings like he normally did. Or maybe he was checking and she was just unobservant?

As she surveyed the harbor, lit up with fading street lights and dawn’s early orange glow she heard a click and locks tumbling, then he cleared his throat. She turned and shot him a tired, wan smile and stepped through the doorway into total darkness.

“Lights,” he muttered behind her and the building came to life. Low level lighting seeped across the entire place and she could begin to make out shapes that were familiar as her eyes adjusted. Furniture was spread out across a vast and seemingly endless living area and up a few steps she caught sight of the gleaming chrome kitchen. The windows were floor to ceiling and heavily tinted, shutters outside cracking open to let a minimal amount of light inside. There was a mezzanine above her and although she couldn’t see what was up there, she suspected it was another living area which included the bedrooms and perhaps an office or den.

He nudged her from behind. “Keep moving, Frail.” He ordered and as she moved further into what she realized was definitely his home, he remained by the door watching her take everything in.

As she neared what looked to be a big recess in the floor, a fire pit upon closer inspection, the lights seeped into view overhead and she looked around. The furniture was all dark woods and chocolate leathers, large enough to support his mammoth frame, thick, plush rugs covered the floors and there was a huge stereo system on the side wall that excited her to no end.

She loved music.

“God, Victor,” she spun to look at him, “This place is gorgeous. Why on earth have you been spending so much time at mine when you have this?”

He stared at her for a moment, eyes whiskey gold and then he was moving silently towards the kitchen, somewhere she’d not explored yet.

“Lights are on a sensor system,” he explained gruffly, “you walk into a room, they come on. You leave, they stay on for five minutes then go out. I’ll have your biometrics added to the system so you can activate them upon entry.”

_Biometrics?_ She nodded mutely. “I,” at his dark look she nodded once more. “Alright, thank you.” It didn’t escape her that he had failed to answer her question.

“Am I allowed upstairs?” She asked, not wanting to over step and he watched her walk around and touch things, her long slim fingers trailing over the buttery soft leathers as she moved about the downstairs living area. He gave her a slow nod and she moved towards the staircase as he beckoned her closer, walking ahead of her, coat shrugged off and dumped over the side of a large overstuffed sofa. Her boot heels clicked against the dark slate tiles as she followed him upstairs, his feet made no sound.

“Bedroom,” he tapped the door as he passed it, “Office,” another door, “Gym and range,” a set of doors and then he stopped finally at the end of the hall. “Your room.”

She looked up at him and smiled softly. Exhaustion was creeping in and she was beginning to flag. “Thank you, Victor.” Her hand brushed his as she stepped inside and he followed only to set down her bag, then he was gone.

She toed off her boots and shucked out of her jeans, then crawled up the huge bed and face planted the pillows without even inspecting her room. Maybe she would wake up and this whole mess would be just a dream, but then again, maybe she wasn’t that lucky.

 

 


	13. 13.

 

It was mid afternoon according to her watch when she woke up, her mouth dry and hair a mess on the feather soft pillows. She blinked sluggishly for a few moments, trying to clear her head and then she remembered where she was. Her eyes snapped open properly now and she struggled to sit up, the blankets and sheets around her ankles hampering her efforts.

“For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled softly, carefully untangling herself from the bedding. Once free she slipped from the bed and padded around the room, the dim lighting not helping her see much. Tentatively, she tried using the command that Victor had used. “Lights?” She blinked when they came on properly and spun in a slow circle to look at the room in full.

The bed, if you could call it a bed, was monstrous…  A California king perhaps? The carpet was a plush sand color and there was a love seat in the corner by the window, dark wood with cushions the same pale color as the floor. The walls were painted a creamy vanilla and there was a brightly lit pendant light dangling above the bed, recessed down-lights dotted around the bedroom’s perimeter.

Across from her there was another doorway, she was pretty certain it wasn’t the one she’d come in through so she wandered over and peered through it, eyes widening at the grandeur that was apparently the ensuite bathroom.

The shower was so large it may as well have been a fucking wet room.

Sandstone tiles covered the floor and walls all the way to the ceiling and the room was divided into two, the larger of the sections was the shower and the smaller housed the toilet, bathtub and a double sink with counter tops so large that she could comfortably sit on them. Hell, Victor could probably sit on them. Her hands itched to turn the water on and lose herself underneath the spray but instead, she backed out of the room and pulled on her pants.

Briefly she toyed with the idea of going without but who knew if Victor was alone or if he was even home.

She padded down the hall barefoot and marveled at the softness of the carpets and rugs as she went. God, the entire place screamed money and suddenly she felt very nervous.

“Where are you going?”

Startled, Anna screamed and spun to look behind her, hand on her heart and the other over her mouth when she came face to face with Creed himself.

“Jesus!” Her heart was in her throat and she was breathing like she’d just run a marathon. “A little noise for the normal people, Victor. Please?”

“Made plenty of noise, Frail,” he reasoned quietly, “Not my fault your hazard perception is shit.” He stepped closer and reached out to tug on her hair, smirking at her muffled whimper. “Where are you going?” He repeated.

She took a calming breath and ignored the delightful tingling that ran down her spine. “I uh,” she winced as her stomach answered for her. “Kinda hungry. Sorry.”

He looked at her as though she’d grown a second head and pushed by her, a large, clawed hand beckoning her after him down the hall. She followed at a sedate pace, still relishing the plush carpet beneath her feet until she reached the slate staircase and she hopped down them two at a time, feet slapping noisily.

“When you’re ready, Frail…” he called and she followed the trail of soft lights into what was evidently the kitchen. She paused when she saw his broad back halfway into the refrigerator and then, only then she noticed his lack of coat. He was wearing snug fitting black jeans and a dark grey Henley, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and a pair of wicked looking black boots.

“How is it,” she began, continuing when he looked back over his shoulder at her, “-how is it that I can be barefoot and make more noise than you when you’ve got those things on?” She slipped onto one of the nearby bar stools and propped her chin upon the heel of her hand, watching him.

He shrugged, grunting as he shouldered the door shut and dumped a load of foods on the large steel counter top. Packages of meats, cheeses and a thick farmhouse loaf of bread were set out in front of her and he took a step back towards the fridge, snagging a beer in long fingers and popping the cap before he took a long swig from the bottle. His eyes remained trained on her as she gathered a small amount of sliced turkey and the bread, eyebrow cocked when she asked for the butter.

“In there,” he muttered, voice gravelly and low, “I’m not your fucking servant, get it yourself.” He nodded towards the fridge and she slipped to her feet, the bare soles making a noisy slap as she hit the floor.

Anna shook her head. “See, I was raised to be polite, Creed. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to go through other people’s fridges?” She asked as she opened the huge silver door. The answering silence made her look back and he was staring at the wall. “Victor?”

Shit, she realized, she’d said something wrong. Was it the polite crack, or was it the mother question?

“I’m sure she would have if she’d stuck around.” Amber eyes flitted in her direction and he shot her a quiet snarl. “Can’t miss what you never had, Frail.”

She blinked. “What do you mean? You never had a mother?” She asked, her voice high and incredulous.

He settled his back up against the counter top and took another long pull from his beer. “Do I look like the child of well-adjusted parents to you? It’s none of your fucking business anyway.”

She could literally see his walls slamming back up, the way he turned his body away from her, the carefully blank look on his face and the nonchalant tone he used when speaking… He had talked about himself enough, she supposed.

Anna cleared her throat and brought the tub of butter back to the counter top. “Of course, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, setting to work on her sandwich beside him. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to but she had the distinct feeling that he would take her hand off if she tried at the moment so she merely continued making her lunch.

After a few moments of quiet he produced a small white piece of card with a pass-code on it and tossed it onto the counter in front of her.

“Security pin and wifi code.” He pushed away from the counter and long legs carried him towards the door where he paused before leaving. “You might want to let your brother know where you are and why, Frail.”

She followed him with her eyes until he was out of sight and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. The thought of telling Thomas that he’d been right to worry was less than appealing.

“Shit.”

 

 

 


	14. 14.

Anna flexed her fingers and cracked her knuckles as she waited for the skype call to connect, the cheerful music suddenly cutting off and the screen flickered to life.

_“Hey, Anna-Belle.. s’up?”_

She cracked a grin. Thomas always made her smile, even though she knew she was about to upset him so dramatically. “Hey, you.. So, first things first, new digs.”

He looked at her, brow cocked and head tilting to one side. _“Ooo-k? Explain.”_

Glancing towards the door of the guest suite, Anna cleared her throat. “I’m staying with Victor.” She put it simply, nodding to herself. This was fine. It was fine. Really. “For a little while.” She added quickly.

Thomas looked at her having gone stock-still. The spines that ran down the back of his neck slowly flared out and stood on end and she could tell he was restraining himself. _“The feral?”_ He clarified, and when she nodded he continued. _“… Why?”_

Here it was, she realized. This could be the thing that tipped him over the edge.

_“Anna.. I swear to god, if there’s something you’re not telling me… I can be there on the next flight.”_

She marveled at how he went from threatening to concerned in one breath. “Do you,” she paused, thumbnail wedged between her front teeth. “Do you remember me telling you about the photographer?”

His pupils blew wide and he took a shaky breath, spine straightening. _“Anna… Did something- are you- tell me you’re alright… Now. Tell me you’re alright.”_ He pleaded with her.

Immediately she replied. “I’m fine.” She insisted. “Honest, Thomas, I’m ok.” She thought back to her apartment, things spread across the floor and strewn from room to room, furniture upturned and tears began to well in her eyes. “Just frightened.” God, if Victor hadn’t been there when she’d walked into the apartment… She didn’t want to think about it.

_“Tell me everything, Anna-Belle.”_

So she did.

By the end of retelling her ordeal, Thomas’ spines had flared out either side of his throat and were visibly leaking a clear fluid that she knew to be poison and he was struggling to remain calm.

_“You could have died, Anna! What the actual fuck is going on with you and this guy?!”_

She blinked, sitting back. “What?”

_“The photographer!!”_

Oh, she thought. For a second there she’d thought he was talking about Victor’s rather insistent affections, but no. Creepy fucking camera guy. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I’ve never seen him before all this bullshit before. Ever. I don’t know who he is but Victor almost took out a wall chasing him out the window.” She rolled her eyes. “I hope he broke his fucking neck when he fell off the fire escape.” She knew he hadn’t, otherwise Victor would have caught him, but it made her smile to think of it happening.

Thomas looked like he wanted to laugh, maybe cry. _“So you were broken into, someone ransacked your apartment and was still there when you got home and this guy you’re seeing – who evidently must be built like a tank if he trashed the place even more chasing him – is letting you stay with him until things cool off? Did I get everything in there?”_

Anna nodded. “Right in one.”

He scowled. _“I don’t like it. You barely know this guy and you’re already ‘living’ with him, albeit for a short time only? Don’t like it, Anna. Don’t like it at all.”_ He shook his head. _“Come home.”_

“I’m sorry, what?!” She glared at her brother with all the fury of a modern, grown-assed woman and planted her hands on her hips. “How fucking dare you! I am not some wilting little wallflower, Thomas so don’t you dare treat me like I can’t take care of myself. I told you where I am and what’s going on to keep you in the loop and-“

He cut her off. _“You only fucking told me anything because you were afraid you were going to die! I swear to god, if some freaking Feral ends up on my doorstep and tells me that my kid sister has been murdered by a fucking stalker, I will not be a happy camper, Anna! I swear to fucking GOD!”_

She blinked at his fury. She’d never seen him get so worked up. Sure, the spines stood up and leaked and he went purple from rage but this was a whole other deal. He was screaming at her, something he avoided at all costs and she found herself flinching as he got louder, waiting for the blow that never came. She opened her eyes and winced when she saw the look on his face, heard that he’d fallen silent.

He looked wounded. _“Anna-Belle..”_ His voice was softer now and he shifted closer to the screen, desperate to hug her. _“’M sorry. It’s just… What happens if he finds you again? Are you safe where you are?”_

She wiped at the tears beneath her eyes with her thumbs and took a shaky breath. “I don’t even know where I am exactly,” at his concerned look she explained. “I fell asleep in the car on the way here.”

He nodded, webbed fingers smoothing his hair out of his eyes. _“Is he there?”_

“He’s in the range, I think? I can hear noise but I don’t… Don’t look at me like that, Thomas. Yes, I said in the range. He has a range in his house, alright?” She huffed.

He cracked a strained smile and nodded to the side. _“Show me your new digs, Kiddo.”_

She unfolded her legs and slipped off the bed, dragging the laptop with her so it faced outwards. “So this is my room… and **_this_** is the bathroom!”

**

Kurt had called her not even ten minutes after she’d gotten off her video chat with Thomas and had insisted she take the night off. She’d argued at first but he was firm with her and by the end of the conversation she felt thoroughly chastised. No work for the night and he would see her after her weekend off, meaning she had three whole days to learn the way around Victor’s home and the docks surrounding it.

She padded down the hallway, fingers peeking out from beneath the cuff of her sweater as she tapped on each door. “Hello?” she called through each one as she went, waiting for a minute before continuing on in search of her host.

Tap-tap-tap. “Victor?” She called out softly, eyes widening as the door swung open and she was assaulted by a barrage of noise. There must have been some sort of sound-proofing, she quickly realized as she watched the bare, sweaty back of the big man as he made his way back across the room toward what looked to be a climbing wall that ran from floor to ceiling. It cut out from the floor at a severe angle and she noted with interest that there were no hand grips, just crevices and ledges.

He’d been climbing.

He was wearing a pair of old sweats cut off below the knee and she could see the play of thick muscle as he reached to turn down the stereo system with a small remote before turning back to her.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He was panting from exertion, teeth bared and hands on his hips. He swiped a towel over his face and cocked an eyebrow at her blatant ogling, nostrils flaring. “Frail..” he snapped his fingers.

“I called Thomas.” She blurted out, shaking her head to clear it of the cobwebs. “He wasn’t impressed.”

He cocked a brow and his head tipped on an angle. “’Bout what?”

She blew out a deep, frustrated breath. “About _everything_ , Victor! How would you like it if you found out that your little sister was being stalked and-“

“Don’t have a sister.”

“-and that she had shacked up with a virtual stranger because her life was at risk??”

He tongued at the back of his teeth and took a slow, lumbering step closer. The towel was forgotten on the floor by a large water bottle.

“Frail,” he rasped quietly, “-only reason we’re virtual strangers is because you’ve decided that’s the case. You know me well enough. You’re overthinking it and so is your damned brother.”

Anna scowled. “How old are you? When is your birthday, your favorite color, favorite food..? I don’t know you, Victor! How do I know that you’re going to keep me safe?” She pleaded, annoyed and hands in the air.

Victor’s cheek twitched. “Too old, Winter and I like green.” He snarled, irritated by the turn of subject. “And I’m really rather fond of rare steaks.. cow, game, you name it, I’ll eat it.”

She filed everything he’d given to her away in a little folder in her head and nodded shortly at him. “When in winter?” She prodded gently.

He huffed and let out a short, deep snarl. She was pushing her luck, she knew it, but something kept her going. “ ** _Frail._**.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, finger rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I just… I’m scared, ok?”

He lumbered closer and she felt herself warm from the toes up, her heartbeat racing as he stopped right in front of her. She wriggled her socked toes and looked up and up and up until she finally met his eyes.

“Of me?”

She shook her head minutely. “God no.” she took a deep, calming breath and slowly reached out to lay a hand on his bare stomach. His skin was flaming hot, like he was running a dangerously high fever and he smelled slightly salty, sweat and something else. She desperately wanted to lean forward and lick a solid stripe up his belly and leave marks all over him with her teeth, but she got the distinct impression they wouldn’t last. Heat pooled low in her belly and she took a shaky, quiet breath.

“He wants me to go home.” Victor went stone still and stared over her head. She took a large, hot hand in hers and dragged soft fingertips over his nails. They were shorter than before. Strange.

“And?” There was a hint of irritation but aside from that, he almost sounded bored.

“I told him no.” She tugged on his fingers, trying desperately to remain focused on him rather than the heat and sheer presence of him.

He backed across the room and flicked the music back on, took three large gulps of water and fucking launched himself back at the wall. She bit back a noise of delight and made herself comfortable against the wall by the door, knees crossed on front of her and Mastodon playing almost inhumanly loud as she watched him scale the wall. Muscles she didn’t even know he had shifted and moved beneath the skin and she licked her lips, brow cocked. As he hung from a ledge one handed and threw himself higher up the wall with a grunt she squirmed and pressed her thighs together.

Sweet baby Jesus, indeed.

 


	15. 15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the delay and the kinda-sorta fillerish nature of this chapter.. but it's necessary in the grand scheme of things. Honest!

It was Sunday afternoon and Anna was due to start back at work that night, had her things ready to go but there was a part of her that was afraid to return. Her hand had healed well enough in the few days respite she’d had and she had finally stopped jumping at shadows but knowing that there was still someone out there whom for whatever reason had her in their sights… Well, it didn’t sit well with her, not at all.

She didn’t know who they were, what they wanted or why they were following her.

Victor was no closer to discovering any of these things either.

There was a scratchy tap-tap-tap at the door and she looked up sharply, dark hair falling across her face. Victor was standing in the doorway with a set of keys in his big hand, dangling them from thick fingers. She stared at the glinting metal for a moment before rising to her feet.

“Victor,” she began, shaking her head. “I’m not taking your car,” she bit her lip, recalling their earlier conversation. “I can’t.”

He fixed her with a long, dark look and stepped inside the bedroom. “Look, Frail..”

“No! You don’t understand,” she hurried to explain. “I don’t know how to drive.”

He blinked at her, startled. “You cant drive?” He parroted, clearly perturbed. “Jesus Christ, Anna! What the hell kind of person can’t drive nowadays?!” He was even closer now and the keys, previously aloft were clutched in his hand.

“I was never allowed to!” She argued back, irritated and embarrassed. “I mean, sure, there was that one time I went joyriding in my dad’s truck but I hit a tree and other than that…” At his nonplussed look she paused. “My parents are dead and my older brothers never had the time to teach me after that so I just used public transport, ok? What’s wrong with that? Just point me in the direction of the nearest bus or train and I’ll..” she trailed off at the incredulous look on his face. “What?”

He snarled and loomed over her, head cocked and tongue tasting the backs of his teeth. “You honestly think that with your current predicament that I’m going to just put you on a fucking bus and let some lunatic jackass stalker have access to you? I think fucking not, Frail.”

“You can’t stay with me all the time, Victor.” She reasoned and the answering look he gave her screamed ‘watch me’. Her irritation softened out into defeat. “Victor, you _can’t_.”

“Fucks sake, Frail,” he looped his fingers into the length of her hair and tugged. “When are you gonna learn that I do as I please.” He gave her hair one last, sharp tug and touched her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

Her eyes had drifted shut somewhere between the first tug and the brush of skin and she swallowed thickly. “I’m scared, Victor.” She admitted quietly, arms hugging her waist.

He hummed, a quiet almost-purr. “I’ll find him, Frail,” he assured her, matter of fact. “And when I do-”

“Don’t. I don’t want to know what you’re going to do to him.” She refused to meet his gaze and her eyes stayed trained on his torso, dead ahead and damn it, she was not about to cry.

“Frail,” he audibly took a deep breath, scenting her and suddenly he was very quiet. “Frail, do you _want_ to go back to work?”

She nodded, then hesitated, then shrugged. “I do, I just… I’m fucking scared.”

“Be angry, Frail.” He told her as he nudged her out the bedroom door and down the hallway. “Be fucking livid that he’s forced you out of your home and into hiding. Be angry that he’s invaded your personal space and made you feel this way.”

She rubbed at her nose, desperate to stop the burning itch there that always preceded tears. “I haven’t felt like this for a long time.” She admitted, following him down some stairs she’d not seen before and into a very dark, large space. The lights flickered and came to life showing at least five different trucks of varying color and model. He pushed her towards the green one she’d ridden in three nights ago.

He watched her over the roof of the cab, brows drawn tight and irritated. “Be angry, Anna. Don’t allow him this much head space.”

She nodded to herself as she clamored into to truck and buckled her seat belt. “You’re right,” she said after a minute, “You are absolutely right. Fuck him and fuck his attempts at making me break.”

Victor pushed the key into the ignition and started the truck. “That’s more like it,” he eyed her sideways, “There’s the Frail I followed home.”

**

“You look good, Kid. Well rested.”

Anna smiled at Kurt, distracted by her current customer but chattered to him as she popped the cap off the beer bottle in her hand. She handed the bottle over, took the money and turned to Kurt, momentarily free.

“Thanks,” she sipped at the water bottle she had behind the bar and propped herself up. It was into hour three of her shift and so far so good, no hint of anyone stranger than usual approaching her. “Anything I need to know from the weekend?”

He visibly stopped to think, shrugged and shook his head. “Don’t think so… Had a Bucks party come through on Friday, made a hell of a mess of the place.” He offered and she winced.

“Glad I wasn’t here then.”

He looked around the bar, made sure it was quiet and checked the kegs. “You mind giving me a hand with this?” He pointed to the keg nearest. “Needs a switch over.”

Smiling, she tucked her water bottle into the back of the wine fridge and followed him into the back room, door closing behind them before he turned to face her.

“How are you? Really.”

“I…” she wobbled a bit. “I don’t know who this guy is and that terrifies me but Victor says I’m giving him too much head space.”

He frowned at her. “What do you think?” His arms folded across his chest and she could see the ember-like smouldering of his eyes flare slightly. Great, she realized, another brother to wrangle.

“I think he’s sort of right,” her hands flailed slightly and she ran deceptively still fingers through her hair. “I’m allowing this guy too much free reign and letting him scare me.”

Kurt leaned back against a table and eyed her for a moment. “Why haven’t you gone to the police? You’re not a mutant, they should be on top of it.” He stated sourly. She knew what he meant, exactly what he meant. Mutant hate crimes were at an all time high and some police officers, hell, most of them were opposed to helping out.

She blinked. Well shit. Why _hadn’t_ she gone to the police before now? “I…” she opened and closed her mouth, brows drawn tight. “I have no idea.”

Kurt hummed. “Are you relying on Creed’s nose?” At her sharp look he smirked. “Honey, that nose is legendary, don’t get me wrong, but maybe it’s time to bring in the cops? It’s your home. Take it back.” He pat her on the shoulder and moved toward the kegs, “Now give me a hand or you’re fired.”

Anna laughed and hurried over to help him even though she knew he didn’t need it. “Yes, Boss.”


	16. 16.

Anna was just loading the last load of glasses into the dishwasher when Creed loped through the door and threw himself into one of the corner booths of the bar, long legs sticking out from underneath the table.

“Make yourself at home,” Kurt sniped, bumping Victor’s big black boots with the mop so he’d move his feet. A dark eyebrow lifted and teeth were bared, but no other movement was made. His feet stayed glued to the floor. Bitching like an old woman, Kurt physically lifted each booted foot one by one and mopped underneath before unceremoniously dropping them back onto the floor. “You’re a fucking menace, Creed.” He complained, moving on to the next booth.

Victor blew him a kiss and flipped him off before he turned his head to look at her, eyes glimmering under the low lights. “C’mere...” He beckoned her over with the curl of a finger and Anna slid around the edge of the bar to make her way closer. As she neared he reached into his pocket and produced something black, broken glass and possibly thick plastic; a camera lens.

Anna froze, wanting to reach out to take it from his offered hand but too utterly horrified to do so. “Wh-where did you get that?” She knew the answer already but had to ask just to be sure.

He watched her with great interest, nose twitching at the scent of her overwhelming fear. “Creepy camera guy had the building wired. No audio,” He assured her, “-but he’s been watching you for a while.”

She felt sick. “…. In my apartment.” Her hand was shaking as she rubbed at her mouth.

Victor gave a light shrug, a short nod and set the broken lens down on the table. “You’re not going back there.” He said matter-of-factly. “Two on the fire escape pointed into different rooms and one on the door. You are not safe there.”

She opened her mouth to reply but her stomach turned and she spun on her heel, bolting for the nearest bathroom. She retched and retched until she had nothing left and even then her gut recoiled and twisted making her heave.

How long had the cameras been there and why was he watching her? Who could she have possibly pissed off so badly during her time in town that they would want to do this to her? Why her?

She could feel Creed’s presence behind her before she heard him. “Leave me alone,” she mumbled, embarrassed as she dry heaved again.

He made no sound behind her but next thing she knew his big hand had gathered up her hair and was holding it at the nape of her neck, long fingers twisting it into a loose braid to keep it from her face. And getting vomit in it.

She blinked at him through the mirror. “Who the fuck are you? Really?”

He looked at her sideways, confused. “What?”

“You braided my hair.” She gingerly pushed herself upright and reached for the paper towel stack by the sink. “Who does that?”

He stared at her. “You’re an ungrateful bitch, you know that? Don’t be so defensive, not everyone is out to stalk or maim you.”

She thought back to how they met and cracked a tired, sickly grin at him. “You sure about that?”

He visibly pondered the question then finally shrugged. “Ok, so maiming sounds fun…”

Unable to help herself, Anna let out a small, hysterical giggle. “Your flirting skills need work, Victor.”

He wasn’t even kidding when he replied. “Never really done it before.”

She shuffled closer, tossing the damp paper she’d used to wipe her face into the garbage. “’s a damn shame,” she mumbled, forehead smooshed against his ribs. She curled her fingers into the hem of his shirt and sighed a deep, bone weary sigh. “I want to go home.”

He made a sound of annoyance. “I fucking told you-“

She huffed out a soft laugh. “I meant yours, Victor.”

“.. Oh.”

**

She fell asleep against his side on the drive home, hair shrouding her face from view and knees tucked up underneath her.

“Frail,” his voice rumbled in the quiet cab, sharp claws scraping her skin as she shook her awake. “ _Frail_.”

She moaned softly in her sleep and snuggled closer, something no woman had ever done to him and her fingers tightened in his shirt. Usually, a woman, any woman, got close to him and they ended up running screaming, but not her. Not this feisty, mouthy Frail. He knew he was a bit much for most people, most women deathly afraid of him and few to none had ever been attracted to him but this one, this Frail, young thing wasn’t even phased.

He’d followed her home, stalked her day and night and broken into her apartment just for fun and to leer at her bare legs yet she still wanted him around.

It was odd to say the least. Unsettling, almost.

His breath puffed out in front of them as he scooped her out of the truck, deceptively strong arms and legs winding around his torso like an octopus.

“Time to wake up, Frail,” he murmured to her as he listened to all the beeps and clicks of the security system kicking in once they were inside. She stretched against him, body pushing into his chest and a small sound of discontent escaped her. Her fingers clutched at him like some kind of lifeline.

“Don’t wanna…” she slurred, struggling to cling to sleep.

Victor took the stairs three at a time in the dark with her still bundled up against him, navigating the halls with practiced ease until he was in front of her door. “Anna,” he set her down on her feet and nudged her inside. “You need a shower. You smell like a brewery floor.”

She grumbled and mumbled the whole way in, calling him some rather unsavory names but it only made him smirk. He watched her slump onto the massive bed he’d provided her, much better than the one she’d been using herself in her apartment and struggle to kick off her shoes. Eventually, after watching her fail at adulting, he walked over and hooked a finger into the zipper and tugged them off, dumping them by the end of the bed.

She shrugged out of her sweater and sat on the edge of the bed, blinking tiredly. “-time is it?”

“Almost three.”

She groaned. “Can’t I shower in the morning? I’m fucking tired and I just want to go to sleep and pretend that you didn’t just tell me that someone has been stalking me longer than you have.”

“Stalking implies distance and secrecy,” he grunted. “You’re staying in my home, therefore, no stalking.”

She squinted at him. “I hate it when you make sense.” At his bark of laughter, “No, really. I do.”

He leaned against the wall and eyed her critically. She looked worn and ready to drop at any minute and putting her in the shower was a hell of a risk. He loped closer and took her chin in his hand, her eyes falling shut at the pin-prick of his nails in her cheeks. Her scent sweetened slightly and she leaned heavily into him, her fingers looping around his thick wrist lazily.

Finally, he acquiesced. “Alright, shower later.” He loosened his hold on her and gave her a light shove so she fell backwards into the covers. “Go back to sleep, Frail.”

She wrapped herself in the coverlet and poked her head out the top. Her eyes sparkled at him in the dim.

“You’re just a big softy,” she yawned.

Victor sneered at her. God, she had no idea. “Go the fuck to sleep, Anna.” He groused.

She was out like a light before he’d even reached the doorway.

 


	17. 17.

The next few weeks passed in a blur.

Every night whilst she was working Victor spent time lurking around her old apartment, dismantling the camera devices and making sure there were no new ones so it was safe for Anna to return to gather her belongings.

She wasn’t keen on the idea of staying there ever again and had been looking into renting a new apartment somewhere else. In saying that, that meant she would have to move out of Victor’s house (which she had come to love) and leave Victor.

Dilemma.

She flicked at the corner of the newspaper in front of her and tapped her pen against the bar top, teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she perused her options.

A throat cleared in front of her and she startled, dropping her pen. “God, I’m so sorry! What can I get,” she blinked rapidly, frightened. “-you..”

Creepy camera guy.

He leaned up against the bar and smiled a disarmingly friendly smile, supposedly to put her at ease. “You’re a hard person to pin down, Miss Robinson.” He shook his hair out of his face and she could see the healed scar on his cheek where she’d hit him.

“What do you want?” Her stomach was twisting in knots and she felt so sick that she might throw up on him at any given moment. She struggled but managed to remain outwardly calm and collected. Good job, Anna, she thought. Keep calm, throw up later. Be angry.

Her nails bit into her palms as she felt the rage build inside her. This cretin in front of her had wired her apartment, he had scared her out of her home and he had invaded her personal space and left her feeling violated and tiny, frightened.

He studied her for a moment. “I’ve been hired to check on your personal well being, Miss Robinson.”

She frowned, confused. “By whom?” Her brothers knew she was ok, she spoke to Thomas regularly and Mike once a month when he wasn’t on ops somewhere. Sometimes he was busy when they were meant to talk but she knew that he kept up with her life via their brother.

“I’m not at liberty to say at this point in time,” he hedged.

Fury swelled in her gut. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” she snarled. “Either you tell me who the fuck has you tailing me or I call the fucking cops and have you arrested for stalking and harassment.”

Creepy camera guy didn’t budge. “That’s privileged information between my client and myself.”

She fished her phone out of her pocket and made to call 911. He grabbed her wrist and she leveled him with an icy glare.

“I’ve fucked you up once before because you grabbed me, do you really want me to do it again?”

He slowly loosened his grip and removed his hand. “You’re a very testy woman, Anna.” He observed with a wry smirk and she grew even angrier than before. “I can appreciate that.”

She slapped a hand down on the bar and called across the bar for Kurt. “I’ve had enough of your obscure bullshit for one day,” she told him, irritated. “Either you leave or I get someone to make you leave. Take your pick.”

He looked irritated but took a step back. “I’ll be back, Anna, you know I will.”

She sneered. “Go fuck yourself.” She spat as Kurt came around the end of the bar. He eyed the two with barely concealed intrigue.

“Problem, Anna?”

She smiled serenely. “No,” she waved creepy camera guy away. “He was just leaving.”

They watched him leave, watched the door swing shut behind him and Anna let out a deep, weary sigh. Kurt touched her back lightly, hands fiery hot. “Who was that?”

She immediately began checking the bar for cameras and bugs, just like Victor had showed her. “That was the asshole who’s been stalking me.”

**

“Brazen little fucker just waltzed right on up to the bar.”

Victor looked at her, brow raised and she nodded her agreement.

Kurt had been muttering and ranting about Creepy Camera Guy since he’d found out who he was and had spent the better part of the night telling the regulars to keep an eye out for him just in case he came back.

They still didn’t know what he wanted and she wasn’t buying the whole ‘my client’ bullshit. Anyone she knew that needed to know she was alright she was in contact with and they most certainly didn’t need a fucking video feed of her apartment.

She felt sick thinking about who would ask someone to do that to her.

“You about to hurl, Frail?”

She blinked slowly and looked up at Creed, tip of her thumb between her teeth. “No,” she swallowed the urge down and straightened. “No, I’m ok.” She looked around the bar and eyed the last of the regulars, mentally judging how much longer she’d be there. Kurt nudged her in the ribs.

“Go,” he told her, motioning towards Victor. “Go home.” His voice was quiet and gentle and his smile was far from pitying, but she got the drift. Go home with him and forget about it. Try to forget.

“I’ll get my stuff.” She disappeared into the back room and returned in less than a minute to find the massive man waiting for her by the door. He motioned for her to wait and disappeared outside for a few minutes then returned and guided her out into the darkness.

In the cab of the truck on the way back to his place, he looked at her and she shivered from something that was far from cold.

“I just want to feel safe again, Victor.” She curled against his side and tucked herself beneath his arm. “I just want to feel safe.”

 

 

 

 


	18. 18.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you haven't noticed.. *points up* the rating has changed! Enjoy!!!!

The sun was creeping over the horizon when she started awake, heart pounding and sweating all over as if she’d just run a marathon with a dying scream in her throat.

“Jesus fuck,” she whispered, wheezing. She hadn’t had that particular nightmare in a while.

There was a hefty thump on her door and she didn’t even bother covering herself up. “Sorry,” she called miserably, “-sorry.” She heard the door open but didn’t look up, too busy rubbing her face and trying to catch her breath. She could feel his presence nearby but he didn’t say anything and she reached out blindly to touch him, hand finding the firm muscle of his thigh and bare skin.

“Victor,” she mumbled, cheeks heating, “-are you wearing any pants?” She didn’t dare open her eyes even a smidge. Ok, so maybe just a little bit.

“I was sleeping,” he groused, “do you really think I’m the pyjamas type, Anna?” The bed dipped beside her and she cracked her eyes open properly to look at him.

Jesus. God, he was built like a fucking tank, bare skin for miles and not a scar on him. Fuck, he was incredible and he made her toes curl just looking at him.

“Frail…” he took a deep breath and nosed behind her ear. Warm cinnamon and sugar had nothing on her. She smelled so sweet but there was an underlying hint of bitter fear that remained from her nightmare that only served excite him more. He pulled the covers down over her thighs and dragged her into his lap, her legs winding around his waist. One hand went to his shoulder, bracing herself as he manhandled her into place and the other touched his stubbled cheek lightly.

She perched in his lap with his thick arm wound around her waist, hand splayed out on the flat of her back. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and her fingers began to shake.

“Vic-” her voice trailed off into a quiet gasp as his teeth scraped her lip before his mouth was on hers. He tasted of whiskey and beer and the prickle of his nails digging into her spine made her arch toward him until they broke apart for air, loathe as she was to do so. His hand slipped down to her hip and the other fisted in her hair. “Victor..” She rocked in his lap and dug her nails into the back of his shoulder.

“If you’re playin’ with me, Frail…” he rasped, “You got one chance to tell me to get out.”

Anna eyed him from beneath her lashes, her breath leaving her in small, soft pants. “No,” she rolled her hips and reached behind her to unclasp her bra. “Don’t go…”

There was barely a heartbeat between her dropping the lacy undergarment off the side of the bed and the shocked squeal as he hefted her in his arms and dumped her on the pile of bedding, his bulk covering her almost immediately after. She whimpered in his ear, the length of him dragging against the soft lace between her thighs. She’d been wanting this for some time now, unsure of how to approach him but she wished she had done so sooner.

“Smell so fucking good, Frail,” he dragged her thighs up around his hips and pinned her to the bed, teeth scraping angry red lines down the column of her throat, stubble leaving a prickly rash across the swell of her breasts. She scratched her nails over the curve of his shoulder and into his hair, the low purr that vibrated from his chest making her stomach clench as he made his way lower and lower until her thighs were draped over his wide shoulders and his mouth was on her, tongue pressing through the thin lace.

“Holy _shit_ ,” her back bowed up off the bed and her legs wound around his neck. His hands held her hips with an almost crushing grip and she knew she’d be bruised later but she really didn’t care. The mere thought of his hands leaving marks on her skin made her gasp and moan as his tongue pressed shallowly inside her through her underwear.

“You attached to these?” He muttered, fingers plucking at the lacy fabric at her hip.

She looked down at him through glazed eyes. “Yes,” she ran her hand over the top of his head and smirked at his quirked eyebrow. “I wanna be able to wear them again so I can remember that time you tongue-fucked me until I came all over your face.”

His eyes glinted up at her and for a moment she thought she’d said the wrong thing until she saw the rapid rise and fall of his chest, felt the hard length of him against her leg. His hand smoothed down the length of her thigh before he pushed her leg higher and dove right back in and her head fell back against the soft bedding.

She wasn’t sure how long it took for the begging to start, but once she started she couldn’t stop and didn’t until she was a sobbing mess, hands fisted in the sheets, legs shaking uncontrollably as she came with a whine. Her hands cupped the back of his head, heels dug into his shoulders and a sheen of sweat all over her.

“Oh God,” she struggled to move away but his hands held her hips firm, tongue still working her oversensitive clit to the point of pain. “Victor, no… St- _oh fuck_!” She had barely recovered from her first orgasm when the second started to roll over her and dazed, she felt him flip her onto her belly and pull her hips into the air. His body covered her, caged in by his arms and then he was slowly working his way into her, underwear pushed aside. The stretch was incredible, painful at first but once he pulled her hips a little higher and seated himself fully inside her she let out a pitiful moan. It felt good. He felt good.

His hand trailed up her spine, into her hair and pulled her head back, throat bared. She braced herself, shoulders down towards the bed and pushed back against him.

“ ** _More_** ,” She pleaded on the verge of tears. She could hear him breathing heavily behind her and relished the pull as he tugged on her hair, grabbed her hip and started moving.

Fuck, she thought absently as he slammed all the way into her, he was going to ruin her. Hell, he pretty much already had. Each forward thrust forced a moan out of her and she clung to the bed for dear life as he pounded her into the mattress, his claws dug deep into the flesh of her hip.

“Hurts,” she mumbled in between breaths and when he slowed slightly she whined. “No, don’t stop…” He didn’t stop, but he did slow down and check himself a little more than he had been. It was in his best interest to be careful with her; she didn’t have the healing capabilities that he did.

She tapped on his hand and he loosened his grip, heightened senses picking up on the coppery scent of her blood. He’d cut her open. The animal inside crowed with pride but the man hesitated. Was this what she signed up for?

“Fuck’s sake, Victor,” she murmured, “Put your back into it like before or I swear to – _oh Jesus_!”

He snarled into the back of her neck and mouthed at the salty skin there. “Or what, Frail?”

She let out a breathy giggle. “Or I’ll show you respect. I will treat you with kid gloves and rub your feet. I will call you Mr. Creed and –“ she dissolved into a squeal of laughter as he made a sound of disgust and slapped her on the ass before he returned to his previous pace. Her laughter quickly tapered off into a desperate moan.

“God, almost.. _Please_!”

It took three more powerful thrusts and she was coming undone again, the weight of him pushing her flat as he collapsed in a heap on top of her with a low moan.

She nudged him after a moment, trying to catch her breath. “Heavy,” her hand slapped at him and she winced as he dragged himself off her, his heavy bulk landing next to her. “So fun.” She breathed, eyes glinting at him.

He shot her a wry grin and his eyes flickered down to her hip. “Made you bleed.”

She shrugged, stretching and flopping into the bedding. “No fun if you didn’t.” She wasn’t expecting him to clean her up so when he sat up and wiped at cuts on her hip she blinked, surprised. “It’s fine,” she argued weakly, not bothered by it at all.

He grunted in reply and bent to drag his tongue over the wounds.

She felt the familiar flutter low in her belly and squirmed beneath him, flushing pink when he eyed her with a quirked brow.

“Really, Frail?”

She blushed properly now, nails scratching the short hair on his head. “Would you rather I pretended I wasn’t attracted to you?”

He looked thoughtful for a moment and she laughed. “Maybe another time,” he told her with utmost seriousness.

She hummed and curled around him, rubbing her face against his hip. “Hmm, it’s like that, is it?”

He shrugged, fingers carding through her hair. “I like the chase.” He watched her for a minute and rose to his feet, scooping her up against his chest. When she made a sound of confusion, he informed her they were going to his room. “I might be an ass, but I’m not going to make you sleep in those sheets now.”

She grinned. “My hero,” she snarked and laughed at his look of disgust. “Watch out, you’re bordering on respectful behavior.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” he sniped back with little heat and dumped her on the large, plush bed. “Go to sleep, Frail.” He pulled the dark covers over her bare body and Anna grabbed for his wrist as he moved to leave.

“Stay?”

He looked at her, confused, then slowly nodded. Nobody had ever asked him to stay before. “Until you’re asleep.” Her smile in return made something inside him blink awake, something he’d not nurtured in many years and he felt a strange uncertainty settle in his gut.

What had he gotten himself into?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	19. 19.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time!

Anna woke with a sort of sore sluggishness that she’d not felt in forever, or in fact, ever. Her hips and thighs ached and her fingers fluttered down to touch the scabbed over wounds on her hip, a quiet wince escaping her. They still hurt, but it felt more like the tenderness of an old bruise than anything else.

She turned her attention to the room she was in now and sat up carefully, curling the covers around her. The walls were a dark grey, the bed even bigger than her own but then that stood to reason; Victor was a big man. There was an enormous arm chair in the corner and once her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see a pair of long, jean clad legs and part of a torso in a rogue patch of light. The hands folded across said torso were a dead giveaway and a tiny smile crept onto her face. He’d stayed.

“What time is it?”

He loomed out of the dark, leaning forward and she could make out the pale amber of his eyes, whiskey gold framed in dark lashes that put her to shame. He looked out through the crack in the shutters into the darkness. A splice of moonlight cut across his cheek and she realized she must have slept all day.

“’s late.” His voice was gravelly from disuse and he was just moving towards the huge bed with her in the middle with there was a loud beep and he froze.

“Victor? What was-”

He beckoned her closer and she started to crawl toward him but obviously it wasn’t fast enough because he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her across the bed, set her down on the floor and started towards the door. He threw a massive fur coat at her and told her to cover up.

“Get under the bed,” he told her firmly, “-stay there until I come get you..”

Her stomach felt like it had been filled with cement. “I,” at his look she nodded and crouched to peer under the bed, crawling underneath and right into the middle. “What’s going on?”

“Was the perimeter alarm.” He was already half way out the door but she heard a strange click-click noise and then silence.

Someone was trying to break in.

**

She wasn’t sure how long she was under there, but she knew one thing.. Ok, two things. One; the coat he’d thrown at her was monstrously large and warm, he wasn’t getting it back and two; her poor fingernails would never be the same again. She had chewed them down to tender little slivers of their former glory and she was almost certain that they were bleeding in places. She felt physically ill and was terrified but was holding it together rather well, if she could say so herself. There were no tears, no vomit and she had managed to stop shaking and had curled up in a little ball, draped in furs and was dozing lightly when the bedroom door swung back open almost an hour later. She immediately snapped awake and didn’t move a muscle, afraid.

There was another click, like something heavy being set down and she could hear breathing. “Frail.”

Relief flooded her and she opened her eyes, turning her head to look in the direction of the voice. She remained quiet but looked up at him when he hefted the edge of the bed and lifted it so she could crawl out easily.

“C’mon,” he muttered, not even straining under the weight of the massive bed frame.

Anna tugged the coat higher to free her knees and crawled out, a quiet noise of surprise slipping out when he pulled her to him and set down the bed. He studied her for a long, tense moment and finally loosened his grip on her enough for her to straighten up.

“What happened?” Her eyes slipped closed as he nosed her hair and ran strong hands all over her to make sure she was un-injured.

He didn’t answer right away, just led her to her room and nudged her inside. “Get your shit together. We’re relocating.”

She blinked, confused. “What?”

“Someone tried to firebomb the place. Don’t know who it was, never smelled them before.” He took in her suddenly terrified expression, the bitter scent of her fear and his eyes darkened. “I will keep you safe, Frail.”

She hiccupped, trying to stop tears but she knew he could smell them on her from the low growl he let slip.

“I want to go home.” She hugged herself, not looking at him.

He frowned. “Frail, your apartment isn’t-“

“No,” she stopped him dead. “I want to go home to Thomas,” she wouldn’t, couldn’t meet his eyes, “-to Kansas. I can’t do this.”

She could feel him staring at her in the dark and refused to look at him as she packed her things into her bag as quickly as possible and shrugged out of the fur coat. She dressed quickly and efficiently and didn’t even look at him as she gathered her bags and stepped over the coat on the floor.

“I just,” she started, stopping next to him. He was still quiet, never uttering a sound. “I can’t, Victor.”

“You’re running away.” He accused and she could hear the unspoken ‘from me’ in his flat, dull tone.

She hesitated by the door. “Maybe.”

He watched her stride down the hall and disappear down the stairs, the scent of her salty tears trailing after her.  There was a click, the beep of the security system kicking back in and then silence.

She was gone.

 


	20. 20.

Anna waited by the baggage claim for her things after a long, hectic twenty four hours and fought back tears. She thought Victor would have tried to stop her from leaving but then he had never shown any indication of making her do something she didn’t want to. Or perhaps he didn’t realize that part of her had wanted to stay with him but was afraid to do so and he was pleased to see her go. After all, he wasn’t the relationship type, was he?

After the initial freak out she’d had once she was out in the open, alone, Anna had walked three blocks, hailed a cab and had gone straight to the airport where she’d caught the red eye to Kansas City. It wasn’t an overly long flight but she was emotionally and physically drained and just wanted to curl up in a cozy, comfy corner and have a good cry.

He’d tailed her in the shadows the whole way until she’d caught the cab.

Part of her wondered if he was making sure she was safe or making sure she left. He had previously stated he liked the chase and well, he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted all along so why else should she hang around? Did he even want her to stay?

“… Anna-belle?”

 She blinked rapidly and sniffed violently, looking up in surprise when she heard the familiar voice of her beloved brother. He looked exactly the same as when she’d left him, although his hair needed a cut and hung in his face, inky black strands standing out against the pale, icy blue of his eyes. He looked nervous, a large bottle of water clutched in his hand and he was shuffling from foot to foot.

A sob forced its way out of her and she threw herself at him, arms looping low around his waist to avoid the spines she knew were hidden by his hoodie. “ _Thomas_ …”

He folded himself around her protectively, always larger than her and ever the big brother. “God I missed your face.” He mumbled, embarrassed into her hair and he flinched when she exploded into tears. “Hey, hey… What’s wrong? Is it because I came to pick you up? I know you said you were going to take a cab but-”

“No,” she whined pitifully, “I think I fucked up.” She sniffled, rubbing at her nose. “I’m so glad to see you.”

He held her at arm’s length and looked her over, her face blotchy and pink from tears and then he noticed the angry red marks on her throat, the careful way she held herself. “Anna… What happened?”

She flushed a ruddy pink. “Can we go home first?” she asked in a small voice, fingers stroking the back of his hands absently.

He nodded, reaching for her bags, the only ones left on the carousel. “Yeah, anything you want. Anything you want, Anna-belle.”

 

**

 

She woke up in her childhood bedroom, sun shining through the window, the bed small and cramped but it smelled of home. There were still posters on the wall, her old cheerleading trophies on the shelf and her bedding was still that ugly shade of floral pink that she’d always hated but was too afraid to ever mention. Michael had done his best when their father had passed but decorating for a slightly tomboyish teenage girl was not one of his finer strengths. She had been gifted with the quilt cover just before his first deployment and for sentimental reasons she had kept it. Not because she liked it.

God, the walls were still yellow. Ugh.

She’d forgotten how much she hated yellow.

A knock on the door made her sit up and she wiped the crust from her eyes, struggling to sit up.

“You awake?” Thomas called through the door and she smiled, knowing that even though things were shitty, he was there. “I made breakfast.”

“Yeah,” she climbed out of bed and pulled on her jeans from the day before. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

She heard his footsteps fade as he descended the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the back of the door. What was she going to tell him? How much did he need to know? With a sigh she got up and pulled on a sweater, then made her way downstairs.

He looked up from his tablet with a bright, sunny smile. “Morning, sleepy head.”

She took him in as she sat opposite him. He had bruised circles under his eyes and he looked on the whiter side of pale which always was a dead giveaway that he’d not slept well. “How long have you been up?” She asked, glancing at the cat clock on the wall. Its tail swung happily and only one of its eyes still rolled in its head but it made her smile. Her dad had always thought it was funny.

Thomas shrugged, one shoulder bouncing up and down. “About an hour,” he lied. “Left you to get some rest.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Right,” she reached for the crisp strips of bacon in the middle of the table and chewed on one slowly. “Go on,” she said finally. “I know you’re dying to know everything.”

He pushed a cup of steaming hot coffee towards her and sat back, legs spread under the table, ankles crossed. “Why were you crying, Anna-belle? And what the hell happened to your neck?”

She blinked. Well. No punches pulled here. “Creepy Camera Guy found me at work, we had a set to in the bar… Victor came to get me and things happened.” She tentatively touched the fading scrapes down her neck. “I,” she swallowed thickly. “Nothing happened that I didn’t consent to, Thomas.”

He looked slightly uncomfortable but nodded. “You promise?”

She shot him a small, embarrassed smile. “I promise.” She took a sip of coffee and almost choked when he started swearing profusely about the camera guy.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” He demanded. “And why the fuck does he have you in his sights?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, honestly. He never gave me a name, just said he was hired to check on my well being.” She rubbed her face, over it all. “I called bullshit and he left. Wouldn’t tell me shit.”

He stared into his coffee, teeth chewing his bottom lip. “It wasn’t me, I didn’t hire him and Mike is in Bahrain at the moment so he just keeps up with you via me.”

She nodded. “I did wonder where he was stationed.”

There was a moment of quiet before he looked up and cleared his throat. “Have you considered…” He stopped and she eyed him curiously.

“Considered what?” His answering look made her stomach grow cold and butterflies, not the good kind, take flight. “Thomas, what?”

“He’s out, Anna,” he took her shaking hand and squeezed it. “He’s out on good behavior.”

Her stomach dropped and flipped and she started to shake all over. “…. What? When? How? Why didn’t I know this?”

He gathered her up into his arms and held her despite the weak attempts to free herself. “You were in New York, you were safe.” He mumbled into her hair. “I thought you were safe.”

She pulled away just far enough to look up at him, to see the crystal gleam of tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He hesitated. “I thought you’d be safe there. Nobody knew where you’d gone and,” he took a deep breath. “I went to the parole hearing and argued your case for you but they still let him out. Model prisoner or some bullshit.”

Anna swallowed down the urge to scream and rage at him. He was only trying to protect her. Jesus. God, everything made sense. The stalking, the break-ins, the fire-bombing… It all pointed towards one thing; one person that she had completely discounted because he was meant to be in prison for aggravated kidnapping, domestic abuse and attempted rape.

She had made some bad decisions in her life, but at seventeen years old when her life had hit it’s lowest point around when her father had died she’d made some doozeys.

Brian was one of them.

Brian was all of them.

Fuck.

 

 

 

 


	21. 21.

It took a grand total of five days for the scrapes and stubble rash on her neck and chest to fade and another four for the beard burn between her thighs to clear up. She cried when she noticed the last of it fade away. All that was left was the deceptively deep cuts on her left hip and she just knew they were going to scar. They were clean and healing well, but the edges of the wounds had that dull purple shine to them that heralded a new scar.

She’d bumped them in the kitchen on the counter and Thomas had panicked at the sight of cheery bright red blood seeping through the hip of her pyjama pants. 

“It’s ok,” she soothed, hands up in the air as he ranted and panicked. “I told you he was a Feral, Thomas! What the hell do you expect?!”

He shot her a filthy glare. “I didn’t expect you to let him cut you up and mark you like some sort of fucking prize, Anna! What the ever-loving hell??”

She exploded on him. “It’s who he is! He’s part man, part animal and I don’t care if you don’t like him, Thomas! It’s my decision to make, not yours!”

He stared at her with a pale, shocked expression. “I’ve heard that from you before.” His voice was soft and scared and she immediately knew what he was talking about. She’d had the exact same argument with them before about her ex. About Brian.

She opened her mouth and shut it quickly. Finally, she swallowed and looked at her fingers, the nails still bitten down and sore. “I didn’t love Brian.”

Thomas was stunned into silence, still poised for an argument on the other side of the room. He sagged, defeated and moved to her side. “You never said it was that serious.” He rubbed her shoulder and she crumpled against his side.

“I didn’t think it was,” she sniffed, cuddling into him, hand tucked beneath her chin, eyes downcast.

“Do you miss him?”

She nodded. “He’s an asshole, Thomas. I’m not going to lie to you. He’s rude and brash and doesn’t know how to hold a civil conversation but there was something about him.”

Thomas hummed, stroking her arm. “Call him then.”

She flushed and stammered. “I um,” she looked up sheepishly. “I don’t have his number.”

His hand stopped moving and she laughed at the look on his face. “You were sleeping with him and you don’t know his phone number…?” When she nodded he shook his head. “You are so bad, Anna.”

“It was one time!!”

**

It was almost five in the morning two weeks later and Anna found herself at the airport waiting with a crowd of families for the military plane to land. A snow storm had blown in the day before and the plane had been re-routed to Texas for the night before being granted special permission to take off in the dead of night.

It would be the first time she had seen Michael in almost two years.

She kicked at the snow on the ground and folded her arms tight to keep warm, bouncing on her toes as she watched the big plane slowly roll to a stop on the tarmac and what seemed like an eternity later the doors opened and men started to spill out onto the icy ground, laughing and joking as they neared the large group of relatives waiting for their return.

Anna peered through the crowd and bounced up and down, desperate to get out of the open and to find the security of her big brother’s arms. He wasn’t as physically affectionate as Thomas but he gave a mean bear hug when he wanted to. Finally she spotted the familiar dark head of hair, cropped shorter than she was used to but she knew that face anywhere. The surprised smile on his face made her secret presence worth it and he dropped his bag and jogged over, throwing her over his shoulder and spinning her in a circle.

“It’s Anna-Belle!”

“Put me down, Jackass before I hurl down your shoulder!” She squealed, delighted by his reaction. As soon as her feet touched the ground again she latched onto him and squeezed with all her might. “I missed you!”

He grinned, a boyish smile that was entirely too young for his thirty four years and draped his arm around her shoulder. “Missed you too, squirt.” He tugged her aside and took her face in his hands. “I thought you were…. Out of town. What are you doing here?”

She forced a smile onto her face and slipped her hand into his as they gathered his things and walked towards the car Thomas had lent her. “Later,” she promised. “Are you hungry?”

He groaned dramatically. “God, yes, I’m starved! Can’t you see I’m wasting away?”

She quirked a brow and laughed. “I dunno, I was sort of thinking you looked a bit chunky.” She joked and he flipped her off. He was far from it; broad and sturdy, but nowhere near chunky.

“Yeah well, look at you and those thighs.. you could feed a nation of starving people on those things!”

She gasped, outraged, but laughed none the less. “You’re still a prick.”

He grinned down at her. “I missed your face.”

Her dimples popped and she kicked a little snow in his direction. “Same.”

 

**

Ok, she thought, in retrospect perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to keep everything from Michael. Thomas was sat on the sofa, spines leeching fluid, chest heaving from anger and Michael was pacing the room, hands flailing as he shouted and cursed.

“Why the fuck didn’t you two tell me any of this?” He turned on her when she snorted and pointed in her face. “And why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me you were seeing someone? I'm fucking pleased that you’ve moved on but Jesus on a fucking boat, Anna-Belle, why all the covert secrecy?! Am I _that_ bad?”

“Of course not!” She cried, “But I didn’t know if it was going anywhere and then it all went to hell so why bother in the first place?!”

He scoffed. “That’s complete trite.” He squared his shoulders, “Did it go anywhere? Would I disapprove? The only way I’d disapprove is if he was a possessive fucking stalker who couldn’t take no for an answer!” Her silence made him laugh, then he sobered and stared at her, stunned. “Jesus!!! Do you have a fucking type?!”

Thomas quirked an eyebrow from his seat on the sofa, watching her descent into an emotional wreck again. It had taken him weeks to get her to stop crying over it all and Michael had undone all his hard work with one short temper tantrum.

“You’re being unfair.”

“Oh shut up,” he snarled. “You’ve always been soft on her!”

Thomas rose to his full six feet three inches, a full three inches taller than Michael and loomed over him. He sneered down at his older brother and gave him a shove. “Say that again, Mikey. You tell me I’m too soft on her again.. Look at her!! Look at what you’ve done!”

The men both turned to look at her and Anna hurried to wipe her face, trying not to look at either of them. “You’re not Dad,” she told Michael in a soft, watery voice. “You don’t get to tell me I’m a fuckup because you are _not_ my father.”

He looked like he’d been slapped and staggered backwards as if he had too. “Anna…”

Thomas put himself between them and cleared his throat. “She cares about this one, Mike… She used the L word.”

The elder of the trio looked startled and turned to look at her, really look at her. “You love him?”

She laughed humorlessly. “Not that it matters anymore,” she muttered, “-but yes, I think I could have.”

He gave her a stern, calm look. “Did he feel the same?”

Tears pricked at her lashes. “I don’t know.” She was determined not to let them fall and she blinked rapidly to clear them away. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“It doesn’t ma- Anna, all we ever wanted was for you to be safe, happy and healthy. How can your happiness not matter?” He implored.

Hearing this only made her more upset and she burst into floods of tears. “It doesn’t! I fucked it up and left him and now I don’t even know where he is..”

Michael squinted at her and cast a quick glance at Thomas, then back to her. He’d never known her to cry quite so much and quite so easily. Thomas shrugged and made a confused face before gathering her up and hugging her tight as he could.

“We’ll work it out, Anna-Belle.”

She sniffled and shook her head. “If he doesn’t want to be found he wont be,” she snorted. “He knows vaguely where I am, if he wants me he can come find me.”

 “Until then?”

She stared at the floor with glassy eyes. “Until then, I move on.”


	22. 22.

Thomas could feel eyes on him but then that was nothing new. He was setting the trash can down on the curb when he heard movement behind him and he braced for impact. It wouldn’t be the first time he was attacked outside his home, but it was just that, his home. He wasn’t about to move out of the area just because some punk kids couldn’t get it through their thick heads that he wouldn’t hurt them or that different didn’t equate to evil.

Michael had taken Anna out to dinner in an effort to cheer her up and he had opted to stay home, so he was hoping that whomever deigned it necessary to beat him up made it quick.

“Fucks sake,” he muttered, blowing smoke through his nose and dropping the cigarette butt on the snow covered ground. “Just get it over with.” He crushed the butt beneath his shoe and turned to see one of the biggest bastards he’d ever lain eyes on in his life. Shit, he thought, maybe he wasn’t going to walk away from this one. He immediately took a step back and looked up –he was bigger than himself and that was a rarity. He hoped it was Michael who found him and not Anna.

“You Thomas Robinson?” The man asked in a gravel rough voice, hands buried in the deep pockets of his coat.

Thomas kept a calm façade. “What of it?”

He gave him a toothy sneer, almost a snarl and looked up at the clear night sky. It was cold out, their breath puffing out into the night air like fog and even a few steps away he could feel the heat emanating from the bigger man. He was like a walking furnace. Fuck, he was huge and _were those canines for real_?!

“I can see where she gets it from now,” he muttered, almost kindly but not quite. “You as big of a pain in the ass as she is?”

He frowned. “She…?”

“Fr- Anna.”

He eyed him for a long minute. “You must be the boyfriend.” There was nobody else this could be.

The man looked at him, intrigued but gave a graceful shrug. “If that’s what she’s told you I am...”

Thomas sighed. “You’d better come inside. You’ll catch your death out here.”

Once they were inside, he took the opportunity to get a good look at the bigger man. He was built like a mountain and barely fit through the doorway, hell, he had to duck to get in the door. He was wearing old jeans that were probably black once and a navy t-shirt underneath a coat that looked like it had a bullet hole in it right over his right hip. Fucking hell.

“You done?”

Thomas blinked and cleared his throat, looking away. “Look, she hasn’t really elaborated on what happened before she left, but she’s only just physically recovered. She cries all night and sleeps all day and I don’t want to see her any more hurt than she already is.”

He made a sound in the back of his throat that belied his calm exterior. “She’s hurt..” he snarled. “ _She_ left _me_.”

Rolling his eyes, Thomas folded his arms. “I’m not here to start a pissing contest over whose feelings were hurt the most, man, I’m here to protect what’s mine. She’s my little sister. I won’t see her crushed again.”

He snarled and he could see long, sharp nailed fingers curl into fists. “ _The Frail_ left _me_.”

Thomas snapped. “And you fucking _let_ her.” He caught the slight confusion in the bigger man’s eyes and felt for him a little. He was almost certain that this man in front of him wasn’t familiar with relationships, he wasn’t either, but he knew that his sister hadn’t wanted to go the way she did. “Anna-Belle just wants to be wanted. You let her leave and she was gutted that you didn’t come after her – you may as well have put her on the damn plane! It’s been over a month, Creed. A whole fucking month without contact.” He threw his hands up in the air. “And don’t call her a frail! I know she’s not like us but you can’t just assume that she’s fragile and breakable because she doesn’t have the goddamn X gene. She’s stronger than you think!” His breath whooshed out of him and long, sharp nails were digging into his throat. He panicked, completely forgetting that this man, this Creed was an unpredictable animal for the most part.

Creed was holding him off the floor and in his face before Thomas remembered he could defend himself and turned his head, stabbing a long, wet spine into the big man’s wrist. Creed hissed and dropped him in a heap on the floor.

“What the shit…? Fuck, she mentioned spines..” He shook his hand and Thomas could see the wince forming on his face, see the nausea set in within a few seconds. “What the hell, kid?”

“You were gunna kill me!”

Creed looked at him in disbelief. “Damn it, you little bastard, no I wasn’t!” He looked a bit pale and sweat was beading on his forehead. “What the hell is in those things?” He coughed wetly and looked shocked when he found speckles of blood on his hand.

Thomas looked up at him, unable to fathom that he wasn’t about to be killed and he’d just poisoned his sister’s lover for nothing. “You… weren’t?”

Creed snarled, a feral, angry sound that made him want to wet himself. Seriously. He felt like he was in the enclosure at the zoo with one of the big cats and it was feeding time.

“Did I fucking stutter? NO!” he roared, slurring slightly and Thomas scrambled to his feet as the other man collapsed and crashed into the antique coffee table they’d had for years. It splintered under his weight and horrified, Thomas watched as Creed hacked and grew weaker, unable to stand.

“Shit,” he ran his fingers through his hair and jumped over the prone man, heading for the refrigerator. “Anti-venom, anti-venom..” he mumbled to himself, a little hysterical. He snagged the small vial out of the fridge door and a syringe out of the nearby drawer and ran back into the living room praying to whoever listened that he hadn’t killed him.

Creed was barely conscious and wheezing noisily when he slipped to his knees and prepped the needle. “How heavy are you, you big fucker?”

“Two… eighty.. nine.”

He blinked, stunned and mentally calculated the numbers in his head, measured out the anti-venom and jabbed it into the rapidly pulsing jugular. He’d only had to use it twice before and that had been once when Anna was cutting his hair and nicked her finger and once when he and Mike were fighting as kids. He hoped his numbers were right and he didn’t kill him.

“Ok, its going to sting..” he cracked a grin at the sound of slurred disbelief that came from the other man and sat by his side with his fingers on his pulse, feeling it eventually slow and regulate.

Creed’s voice was rough and his speech was slurred. “Think I’m gunna hurl..”

Thomas scrambled for a bucket and by the time he returned, Creed had managed to crawl to his knees and shrug out of his coat but he hadn’t been sick yet. He buried his head in the bucket as soon as it was within reach and retched violently.

“.. The **_hell_**?!?”

Thomas looked up and his eyes were deer in headlights wide, his hand on Creed’s shoulder and Michael and Anna in the doorway. She looked torn between crying and running.

“Tommy, who..?”

Anna pushed past Michael and knelt by Creed’s side. “Victor?” she looked at her brother. “What happened??”

He stuttered slightly. “I um, thought he was trying to kill me… h-he caught a spine or two.” At her stricken look he rushed to reassure her. “I injected the anti-venom as soon as I could!”

“You mean after you watched me kill your fucking table,” Creed snapped, done with vomiting. He pushed to his knees, recovering quicker than expected. “Never, ever thought I was gunna die until now..” He eyed him cautiously. “You’re a fucking goddamned menace, kid.”

Thomas smiled brightly, getting the feeling he’d just passed a test of sorts. “Thank you.”

Anna looked between them and then at the shattered remains of her grandmother’s coffee table, the same one her Gram used to stand her on to hem her school dresses when she was small and sighed.

“I really loved that table.”


	23. 23.

“How are you not dead?”

Creed heard the question but ignored it, eyes drawn to Anna. She looked tired and had lost weight, her cheeks hollowed out and her previously curvy hips now more slender and lacking the softness he had been drawn to. He heard the question being repeated and then the angry outburst from whom he assumed was her eldest brother, Michael who apparently didn’t like being ignored.

He turned slowly to look at the thirty something and his lip curled. He was tempted to ignore him further; the angry outbursts, demands and childish tantrum he was currently throwing not endearing at all. He reminded him of someone he used to know except the other person, namely his father, would have been throwing punches by now. 

“He can’t die, Michael, Jesus. Shut up.”

He heard Anna reply and almost snorted but the irritation lingered and he was pushing down the urge to swat him like a fly.

Michael was not perturbed. “So you are THE Victor Creed, then?”

He cocked his head, intrigued. So he’d heard of him and that’s where the anger was coming from. He inhaled deeply and the range of scents almost threw him off but he could tell that the other man was nervous.

“Well that depends,” he clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and grinned, “Does my reputation precede me?”

Cold fear was a delicious scent to him. Knowing that it was him he was afraid of made his toes curl in his boots and made the beast inside want to play.

“You can’t be him,” he muttered, taking an unconscious step away. The scent of sheer unadulterated terror leeched out of him and his skin lost all color. Sweat beaded on his brow and he unsuccessfully tried to pull Anna behind him. “You’re not real.” He shook his head in disbelief and corrected himself. “ _Victor Creed_ is not real. He’s just an urban myth they use to scare all the new recruits.”

At Anna’s look of incredulity Michael rattled off more fun facts.

“Victor Creed is a killer, Anna. He’s a cold blooded, kidnapping, raping, misogynistic gun for hire that could and would wallow in the blood of whomever he saw fit _if_ he saw fit. He’s not a good man and there’s no fucking way that - even if he did exist – I would allow my sister to be involved with him.” He snapped finally. “You are NOT Victor Creed. Victor Creed is dead.”

Anna looked between her brothers and then back to Victor who was climbing to his feet and brushing bits of wood from his clothing. He nudged a larger remnant of the table aside and straightened to his full seven feet, hands hanging limply at his sides, body coiled and ready for a fight. His outer calm was deceptive though, inwardly he was raging that all those things about his past had been thrown out there for the frail to hear and find out from someone that wasn’t him.

He took a lumbering step towards Michael and inhaled the sour scent of his fear. For someone who insisted he was just a ghost story he was certainly just a touch too frightened for his own good.

“Tell me, boy,” he flicked at the collar of his shirt, claws extended, “If I’m not real, why are you so scared?”

Michael squared his shoulders and faced him. He had an impressive poker face that was for sure.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

He cracked a toothy grin, canines glinting in the light. “Oh I beg to differ,” he stepped closer and mentally congratulated the young man on his ability to face off to him. “You’re about ready to piss yourself,” he inhaled, tasting the sour, salty fear on his tongue. “Didn’t the frail,” he glanced at Thomas, “- _Anna_ – tell you about my sense of smell? What do your legends say about that?”

Honestly, he wasn’t even trying to intimidate the other man. He was just curious, is all.

“Heightened sense of smell to the point of being able to track someone within an eight hour window of them being nearby.”

Creed made a face. Well. That was disconcerting. He was growing antsy now. What the hell else did they tell people about him?

Anna made a noise behind him. “Is that why you asked me not to wear perfume? Because it was too strong for your nose?” She asked innocently and he looked back at her. She looked intrigued but there was no hint of horror in her features and her scent was calm, warm and sweet. She wasn’t disgusted at all.

Jesus he’d found a keeper.

“Burns,” he grunted. “Feels like someone’s poured gasoline up my nose and lit a match.”

She nodded in understanding and said no more, arms folded beneath her breasts and he took a short moment to appreciate the view.

“Anything else?” He asked, interest piqued.

“Victor Creed disappeared during the Vietnam War after a failed execution in front of a firing squad. They shot him more than a dozen times – including four to the head - and he supposedly lived.” He sounded as if he were reciting from a book and Creed wondered where he’d heard that story. “You cannot possibly be that man,” he argued. “It’s not possible. It’s like telling me you’re fucking ‘Santa Claus’.”

“There’s a big difference between a creepy white lie to your kids and the reality of being a mutant, Mikey.” Thomas piped in and he withered back from the force of Michael’s glare. “Sorry.”

Michael swallowed audibly. He was growing visibly uncomfortable now. “He’s squadron legend, the man who can’t be killed.” He looked at Anna, at her eerily blank expression. “He’s the fucking ghost story, Anna. The big bad. I just don’t believe you.” Something flickered across his gaze and he seemed to recover slightly. “Wait, did you sleep with him?!”

“Oh for the love of God,” she threw her hands up and stalked from the room mumbling about a pissing contest. Michael followed her and Thomas remained off to the side, watching curiously.

“So,” he started, “If you can’t die, why did I give you anti-venom?”

Victor smirked and shook his head slowly. “Kid, like I said, never thought I might die until just now.” He looked him up and down. The kid cut a formidable figure; taller than six feet, broad shoulders and long athletic limbs, no doubt from all the time in the water. He was a taller, male version of Anna. Too pretty for his own good but by far one of the most physically dangerous mutants he’d met in a long time. “You have a gift.”

Thomas didn’t look quite so convinced and instead looked toward the back of the house where there were raised voices. “I know you slept with her,” he told him instead, “-and I know she wanted it,” he turned to look at him, eyes an icy pale blue, “But if you hurt her again, I will end you, Mr Creed. I will let you die next time.”

Victor thought back to the odd feeling of his organs shutting down, the burning, searing pain of the venom racing through his body and the smothering realization that he couldn’t breathe. He’d never felt that before and damned if he wanted to feel it again.

He scented the air and couldn’t detect a hint of bullshit.

He nodded once then turned his attention towards the back of the house.

**

“- just can’t help yourself, can you?!”

Anna fixed her brother with a glare that would put him in the ground and shook her head. Her hair was slipping from its tie and she reached up to fix it absently, still fuming that he had the balls to tell her she wasn’t allowed to see Creed again.

“You are NOT my father! How fucking dare you think you have the right to tell me who I can and cannot see!”

“Dad told me to look out for you, Anna! When he died it became my responsibility to police who you did and did not associate with. You’ve made some mistakes in the past and I don’t want you making another one like Bria-“ Her slap cut him off and he stood there, stunned. She’d hit him. Hard.

She was shaking from fury. “You have no right,” she told him in a deathly quiet voice, “-to tell me that it was my fuckup. It took me years to come to grips with what had happened and even longer to let anyone in. Victor doesn’t know about Brian and even if he did, he wouldn’t even tell me that it was my fault. You’re a pitiful excuse for a human being and an even worse excuse for a brother.”

He looked stung but still opened his mouth to berate her. “You’re making a mistake.”

She scoffed with little to no humor. “Look, Michael… Victor doesn’t want me anymore anyway. I walked out on him and I’m having to live with that. That’s my only mistake.”

“Then why is he here?”

Her teeth hugged her bottom lip. “That’s the real question, isn’t it.”

**

Thomas knew that Creed could hear everything that was being said in the kitchen despite the rooms between them. He could tell by the way he intently turned and stared in the same way an animal would when they heard a perceived threat. The tense line of his shoulders gave it away as well.

He wondered what was being said that made him look quite so angry.

“Who,” he asked in a deceptively soft voice, “-is Brian?”

Thomas sneered, an ugly, evil look on his face that looked entirely out of place. “Her ex. He kidnapped her and held her in a bricked up cell in his basement for almost three weeks before we found her, beat her stupid and starved her. He broke her ribs and tried to rape her but couldn’t even do that.”

Creed went eerily still and Thomas could see the sharp claws extending on either hand, massive shoulders tense and hear the low snarl building in his chest. “… Couldn’t..?”

He shot the other man a look that was pained. “Couldn’t perform,” he murmured, “hence the broken ribs. Told her she was a good for nothing whore and almost killed her.”

White hot fury swept over Victor and he could feel the familiar berserker rage from his youth bubbling forth. Someone had dared to attempt to defile his Frail, tried to kill her and he was only just hearing about it?

“When?” He growled and Thomas knew that shit was about to get interesting.

“About seven years ago,” he folded his arms, listening to the yelling in the kitchen start back up. “He got locked up but was released on good behavior recently. We think that’s who was behind all of Anna-Belle’s problems in New York.” He frowned, hearing some of the bullshit Michael was spouting and ran his fingers through inky black hair. “You’re the only person she’s ever wanted since.” That seemed to snap Creed out of whatever state he was in and he glanced at him, brows raised. “Anna doesn’t give herself away, Mr Creed. Either you look upon her as a gift, or you back the fuck off. I won’t have her hurt again.”

 


	24. 24.

After almost half an hour of arguing with her brother Anna found herself on the back porch with Victor. He still looked a bit pale and seedy but aside from that he seemed to have recovered well from the toxic run-in he’d had with Thomas, no worse for wear. But then, she had seen him recover from worse in a matter of minutes, regrowing skin and bone was much more exhausting than being poisoned, right?

“Are you alright?” She double checked, wanting to reach out and touch him but not sure if he’d let her. At his look of confusion, “-from the poison?’

He was quiet for a moment, nodding as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. “Tell me about Brian.”

She felt cold, numb almost but sighed and closed her eyes. “You know about him.”

“Of him. I want to hear it from you.”

She smiled sadly. Well, he definitely wouldn’t want her after this, so why the fuck not, right?

“I was seventeen when my dad died,” she began, “He was always larger than life, big and bold and friendly… He’d say hi to anyone. Then he got sick. Stage four brain cancer. I couldn’t deal watching him deteriorate like that so I would go out to bars, clubs across the border in Missouri… And I met a guy.” She blinked away tears and looked at the ground, waiting for him to walk away. “Brian was a little older than me, old enough to know better than to sneak a seventeen year old into the nightclubs and ply her with alcohol but he did it anyway. Anyway, I started meeting up with him once, maybe twice a week and then it just seemed to escalate until I was with him every day. He’d show up outside my school and wait for me to come out,” she thumbed at her bottom lip. “I never told him where I went to school, Victor.”

He grunted. “He followed you.”

She nodded. “I was seventeen, I thought it was exciting that I had an older boyfriend and even though everyone else tried to tell me he was bad news, I thought…” She shrugged. “I don’t know what I thought.” Her throat felt tight and she couldn’t look at him but she knew he was still there by the scent of his cigarette, the crunch of his boots on the snow covered steps. “One day, he called me and wanted to see me and I – I said no. He was getting possessive and I was scared, so I told Thomas I was going to school and left the house without my phone, started walking… I woke up a day later in a small bricked in crawlspace, alone and filthy, hungry and frightened.” Her shoulders were shaking and she wet her lips before she went on. “He kept me there for twenty days, twenty one nights and when he decided that we were meant to be together, that we needed to consummate our relationship he tried to rape me… Something went wrong and he beat me until I passed out. Kicked me a few times and then the next time I woke up, Thomas was screaming and the police were yelling and my fucking dad had died..”

 “Fucks sake, Frail…”

She blinked her tears away and looked up at him. When had he moved to crouch in front of her? She hadn’t even heard him mo- oh. His hand pushed her hair behind her ear and the back of his knuckles touched her cheek. She felt the brush of his knee against hers.

“S’not your fault.”

She shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek. “Feels like it was my fault.” She mumbled. “Did you really do those things that Michael said you did?”

He stared at her, brows drawn low and teeth bared. “Which part?”

“The kidnapping and raping part… I believe the firing squad, I’ve seen you heal.”

He considered his options quickly. It was either tell her the truth and risk losing her, or keep things from her and risk losing her. Either way, he was fucked. He really wanted to kill that brother of hers. He didn’t like him. At all.

“There are things I’ve done,” he began, “That a normal person wouldn’t be proud of and back then, I had no qualms about taking money for multiple reasons…” He tossed his cigarette butt away into the snow and watched as it smouldered and died out. “I don’t touch kids. I’ve had warrants in multiple countries and I have previously accepted jobs where it involved keeping someone prisoner for a limited amount of time.”

She looked ill. “Like for ransom??”

He inclined his head slowly, eyes not leaving her face. “Anything else?”

“Have you ever raped anyone?” His silence was seemingly telling and she closed her eyes. “Recently?”

“I was put in front of the firing squad for ‘harassing’ the locals in ‘Nam and attacking a superior officer who was attempting to stop me. There were times where I had the urge but I never went through with it.”

Anna blinked her eyes open and looked at him, surprised, but relieved. “So… That’s a no, then?”

“Consent is a very grey area,” he muttered, “Look at me, Anna. What woman would have wanted me when I was that young and angry and openly admitted it?” His sigh was worn and Anna very much wanted to believe him. “There were some who said yes but when questioned afterwards denied ever agreeing in the first place.”

She tried to imagine a young Victor and struggled. She wasn’t sure how old he was but if he was old enough to serve in Vietnam then he was older than she thought. She felt a rage in the pit of her stomach towards anyone who would accuse him of doing such things and the ones who believed them. He was an animal, but not a complete lost cause.

“If I get too much for you, Frail, you have to tell me. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

Her stomach lurched. “Wh-what?”

He looked deeply uncomfortable. “S’why you left, isn’t it?”

Her hair fell in her face again. “No! No, I…” she stuttered and muttered to herself. “I don’t know why I left. I was scared and it was stupid and I’m sorry.” She tentatively reached for the lapel of his coat, tugging on it. Relief flooded her when he moved closer. “You’re not too much. Ever.”

“I want to keep you safe, Anna.” He took a breath and looked down at the hand on his chest. “I don’t – you’re the only one who hasn’t wanted me gone. If I treat you bad or wrong or..” he looked extremely uncomfortable and flexed his fingers. “I don’t human well.”

She cracked a small smile and nuzzled his palm, lips pressing the rough skin. “You ‘human’ just fine for me.”

“Come with me,” he urged her quietly, urgently. “I need you safe, Frail.”

She looked back over her shoulder into the house. “What about Thomas and Michael?”

From behind them, she heard movement in the doorway. Thomas loomed out of the dark and he pushed his palm flat onto the window. He dropped his forehead to the glass and shot her a sad smile. “Go with him, Anna-Belle.”

“But..”

He shook his head. “No arguing. If he’s _here_ now it’s because _here_ isn’t safe anymore. Go.”

“But what if he-“

Thomas had never looked so serious. “I think I’ve proven I can take care of myself, Anna-Belle. Go with Victor.”

**

Thomas had helped her pack her bags and Michael had left the house, holing up in a nearby bar for most of the night. She knew he wouldn’t betray her location, but she also knew that his temper was a risk. She didn’t need him goading Victor into a fight because even though he was an asshole, he was still her big brother and she didn’t necessarily want to see him maimed and dead on their living room floor.

Victor had disappeared into the night for a few hours, off doing God knows what whilst she took the time to say goodbye to Thomas, to make sure he was going to take care of himself. He didn’t have a lot of outside interaction with people and she worried about his mental health.

He was a loner but she knew he missed the company sometimes. In the end she had told him she loved him, kissed him on the cheek and allowed him to help her into the car before she and Victor had taken off just before sunrise.

She missed him already.

The car journey was quiet for the most part. Victor wasn’t much of a talker and she was exhausted, emotionally and physically so she spent the majority of the trip curled against the door underneath the huge coat he’d been wearing the night before. It smelled of him and it helped to lull her into a state that was almost sleepy.

“Where are we going?” She asked him softly, her head pillowed on her arm and eyes trained out into the early morning glow.

It took him a minute to answer. “It’s your choice, Frail,” he tucked her deeper into his coat with one hand and steered with the other. “A, or B.”

She yawned, closing her eyes. “Surprise me.”

 


	25. 25.

She was growing weary of the traveling, he could tell even though she’d not said as much.

They had been traveling for almost six whole days and she had asked no more than once a day where they were, when they were stopping for a bathroom break and the like. They had stopped to change cars no less than three times and each time she had wordlessly hopped from one car to the next with little to no complaint.

“Almost there, Frail,” he murmured, casting a glance in her direction. She was sleeping currently and even as they rolled into town just before dark she didn’t rouse. He hit the button on the key fob he had kept in his pocket the whole way there and drove into the dark underground parking lot before parking in the far corner and shutting off the engine.

She struggled awake, blinking rapidly in the dark and reached in his direction. “Victor?” She couldn’t make out his outline in the blackness and the only reason he could see her was his heightened vision. He was capable of seeing almost three times more than she was, could hear the way her heart started to race in the dark.

“’m here, Frail,” he opened the car door and the internal light flickered to life, casting a dull glow over them. “Time to move.”

She nodded and carefully unfastened her seat belt, gathering her meager belongings from around her and putting them into a shopping bag they’d acquired a few stops ago.

“New car?” She asked, slipping out the door and stretching.

Creed slammed the door shut and made his way around to her. He grabbed her bags out of the trunk before he replied. “No.”

She perked up immediately. “You mean we’re here?” He’d not heard her so excited in days.

He felt the smile growing on his face, unable to quash it. “Yeah, Frail,” he ushered her towards a poorly lit alcove in the parking garage and hit a hidden button on the wall. “We’re here.”

“Oh goody,” she bounced, trying to stretch her sore, cramped muscles. “Where exactly is here?” She asked as she stepped into the tiny service elevator. The walls were mirrored and the lighting stark enough for her to make out the bruising beneath her eyes from lack of proper rest. The little lights over the door lit up one by one until they were all glowing a cheerful blue and finally the door slipped open silently to reveal a small, barren hallway.

“Victor,” she tentatively followed him out and waited behind him. “Where are we?”

The door clicked as it unlocked and he nudged her inside ahead of him. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head and she rushed the window to look out at the lights. She felt him sidle up behind her and a large, hot hand slipped around her waist, claws digging into the soft curve of her belly.

“Welcome to Las Vegas, Frail.”

**

Anna bit her lip as she watched Victor sleep from her seat by the large window, sprawled flat on his back, a thick arm draped over his face and chest rising and falling slowly. He’d abandoned his shirt and the button fly on his jeans was unbuttoned so she could see a hint of boxer briefs, boots forgotten on the floor in a heap and coat over the back of a chair in the other room.

He had been driving for days without sleep and whilst she admired his stamina at the time, she had been mid-way through her first meal in their new location when she’d heard the jaw cracking yawn and looked up to see him glassy eyed and flagging. She felt awful.

It had taken a great deal of convincing to get him to rest.

She looked outside onto The Strip, saw all the hundreds upon thousands of people meandering along obliviously as the night stretched on. She could see them but Victor had assured her that nobody could see in. Two way bulletproof glass.

“Frail,” he grumbled from the bed, his voice rough with sleep and she turned to look at him, “Take your fucking clothes off and come here.”

His order made her stomach flip and she peeled her shirt off and tossed it aside before stepping out of her jeans. Her bra went next and she knew the exact moment he spotted the scars on her hip. He sat up and beckoned her closer with one long, thick finger. She padded closer and gasped when he reached out and sliced the hip of her boy leg underwear with one long nail and pushed them aside. He thumbed at them, the roughened skin on his fingers scraping the delicate, tender skin of the new scars. It tickled but at the same time it made her whole body light up.

“My, my,” she joked quietly, “What big teeth you have.”

He quirked a brow and the fingers on her hip curled around to grope the globe of her backside, dragging her into his lap and kneading the firm flesh. “All the better to eat you with.” He replied and she immediately felt a rush of wetness between her thighs at the thought of their first coupling, his mouth on her and tongue dipping into her through the pretty lace she’d been wearing. Nobody had ever eaten her out before.

Gold eyes grew dark and he grunted as she settled over the bulge in his pants and rubbed against him. His fingers made short work of the other side of her underwear and he tugged them free, bringing the soaked fabric up to his nose and inhaling deeply, pulling a strangled, startled moan from her.

“That’s it, Frail,” he muttered, tucking them into the pocket of his jeans, “Such a pretty sound..” He grabbed her by the hips and dragged her down against him, “Tell me what you want.”

She rubbed her face against him like a cat and her sharp teeth nipped at his throat. Her hands pulled and roamed and scratched everywhere she could reach. “I want,” she managed between breaths, “-I want to feel your mouth. On me.”

He grinned a feral, animalistic grin. Now that, he decided, he didn’t mind one bit. He could still taste her on the back of his tongue sometimes and no matter where he was or what he was doing he’d have to stop, bury his hand in his pants and see to the problem. He ran his hands up her ribs, absently feeling for the old healed breaks he now knew were there and lifted her off him. He set her down beside him on the bed and shucked out of his jeans, slipped to his knees on the floor. Big, rough hands spread her thighs and he stared at her for a long minute, marveling at his pure dumb luck.

She squirmed under his intense gaze. “Victor, please..”

The first touch of his mouth against the inside of her knee made her breath hitch and her scent grew more potent, a heady combination of arousal and nerves. He wrapped his hands behind her knees and tugged her towards the edge of the bed so she fell back onto her elbows and buried his head between her thighs. His tongue rasped against the sensitive folds and flicked over her clit, sharp teeth worrying the tiny bud until she was a writhing, sobbing mess. He pushed her thighs open wider and dipped his tongue inside her, the answering rush of wetness coating his chin in her slick juices.

He carefully tucked his claws back and rubbed first one thick knuckle over her opening, then another. She moaned wantonly and dug her heels into the edge of the bed, spreading her legs as wide as she could to get more of him inside her.

“ _Please_!” Her hands tried to pull him up but he leaned back out of reach and grinned at her.

“What, Frail? You tell me exactly what you need and I might give it to you.”

Anna whined, frustrated. “I want you to fuck me!”

The beast inside him purred to life and he made to flip her onto her belly, to pull her back so she was folded over and ready for him.

She scrambled forward, resisting. “No,” she insisted, “I want to see you.”

He hesitated, brow lifting in question.

She slipped off the bed and pushed her thumbs into the waist band of his boxers and carefully tugged them down, freeing him. She wet her lips and looked up at him from beneath dark, sooty lashes. Her pupils were blown so wide that he could barely make out the flecks of gold in the green.

“Please…?” She rubbed against him, her breasts touching his ribs and leaking cock between them against her belly. Her hand snaked between them and wrapped around him. “I want to ride you.” She pushed him back toward the bed and he went willingly, but confused. Why would she want to look at him?

He backed up and sat on the bed, stuffed a pillow behind him and pat his thigh. “C’mon then.”

She crawled up and over him and immediately he saw the appeal in this position. Her breasts were in his face and all he had to do was lean forward and bite down. His hands found her waist and his breath caught in his throat as she took him in hand and slid the head of his cock up and down her slit before she slowly sank down his length. He could smell tears before her lashes were even damp.

“S’wrong?” he grunted, holding himself in check.

She lifted herself up and slid back down, a little further than before. Her forehead fell into the curve of his neck, eyes downcast as she slowly began to ride him.

“Noth- _fuck_ … Feels so good.” Her breathing was shaky and unsteady, her hand reaching back and using his thigh for leverage. He brought his knees up a little and she slipped lower into his lap until she was fully seated on his cock.

His hands wrapped around her waist easily and he lifted her up only to drag her back down until she was cursing and pleading, sobbing for release. Her teeth sank into his shoulder and bit down hard and he bucked beneath her, forcing a sharp cry out of her. Fuck, he remembered, mustn’t hurt her _too_ badly. He could taste the copper on the air and it took a moment for him to realize that it wasn’t coming from her, it was in fact his. She’d bitten him so hard he’d started to bleed.

She had marked him.

Something inside struggled and broke free and she was immediately on her back, one shapely leg around his waist and the other draped up over his shoulder. There was a smear of blood on her cheek. “Scream for me, Frail.”

She shook her head wildly, eyes screwed shut. “No!” Her moans were growing louder and louder and Victor took her by the chin and demanded she open her eyes. Once she did, he dragged his tongue up her cheek and fucked her as hard as he dared; he didn’t want to break her after all.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bowed off the bed, coming with a scream that made him let out a harsh groan and follow her down.

He held his weight off her until she nuzzled his throat and bit him once more, pulling at his shoulders. He complied eventually, sprawling over her and pinning her to the bed. Her breath whooshed out of her with a quiet ‘oof’ and a giggle, her fingers working at the knots in his neck.

“Go back to sleep,” she stroked his hair and wrapped a leg around his hip, “”m not going anywhere.”

“Better fuckin’ not,” he grumbled, eyes closing. “It took me over a month to find you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. 26.

Anna woke up feeling better than she had in weeks. Her muscles didn’t ache and her head was clear; she felt refreshed. She yawned and stretched languidly, toes curling and poking out from underneath the sheets.

Wait…

She immediately sat up and looked around, noticing a distinct lack of Victor in the bed with her. Her stomach turned. He wouldn’t bring her all the way the Vegas and then leave her, would he?

“Relax, Frail,” came the low rumble from the bathroom. “I’m in here.”

The knot in her stomach loosened and she blew out the breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She didn’t even know why she was so concerned he’d leave her now. Maybe it was because she’d left him, hoping he would but not expecting him to actually follow her and was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to leave her.

She bundled the sheet up and wrapped it around her like a toga, picked up the part that dragged along the floor and padded into the bathroom. The sight of him reclining in a massive bathtub full of steaming hot, soapy water made her grin, relieved.

“Hey,” She shuffled inside and plopped herself on the floor by the side of the tub. “I didn’t think you were the ‘tub type?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not.” His fingers dragged along the top of the water, claws shrieking against the side of the tub. “You gunna join me, Frail?”

She considered it for a moment before disrobing, leaving the sheet on the floor and carefully stepping into the water with a hiss. It was hot, but it wasn’t ‘oh my God, my skin is boiling off’ hot. She was more concerned by the sting of the welts on her waist that had been left behind by Victor’s claws.

“Seriously,” she started, “Biggest tub I’ve ever seen.” She settled between his spread legs and leaned back into his chest. “Who did you have to pay off for this apartment?”

Victor trailed his fingers up her ribs, nuzzling the back of her ear. “S’mine.” He murmured. “I own it.”

She looked back at him, surprised. “Really?! You own an apartment above one of Vegas’s most pricey casinos?”

“Frail,” he snorted. “I own the fucking casino.” At her indignant spluttering he elaborated. “Bought in when it first opened, then just before the previous owner kicked the bucket he sold it to me. She’s mine now. Has been for about twenty years.”

She hummed, impressed. “Hey, so does that mean you know whether or not the town was run by the mob in the early days?” She sighed and went boneless against him. “I always wondered if that was true.”

“Sure it was,” he mouthed at her neck, teeth scraping the pale skin. “Some places still are.”

There was a beat of silence, just the sloshing of water and then she cleared her throat. “… Victor?”

“Hmm?”

“What,” she hesitated and he stilled, waiting, “-how old are you? Really?”

He went so quiet that if she weren’t in fact touching him she wouldn’t have thought he was still there. “Is it really that important to you to know?” He sighed.

“I don’t want to make it an issue,” she shrugged. “If you don’t want to tell me it’s not a deal breaker.”

He scented the damp air and couldn’t detect any hint of deceit and lifted a hand to stroke down her spine. He chewed the inside of his cheek, mulling over his response for a while before he actually spoke.

“I’m old, Frail.”

She looked up at him over her shoulder, skin damp and flushed from the heat. The ends of her hair were floating in the water around her shoulders.

“I know,” she smiled warmly. “I got that particular memo.”

“Let’s just say the last time I was in Kansas City the military were still issuing muskets and canons as standard weaponry.”

She went very still and slowly turned in the water to look at him, hands holding the edge of the tub with a white knuckle grip. “Are you telling me you fought in The Civil War?” Her voice was small and he could smell her anxiety building.

He lifted an eyebrow. _And world war one, and two and every other damn war since.._ “Is that a problem, Frail?”

She huffed a shocked, quiet laugh. “I just,” she shook her head. “ _Seriously_??”

“My father,” he cleared his throat, “He couldn’t abide my mutation. As soon as I could, I left. Joined up.”

Her lip curled and he caught sight of sharp white teeth, warmth pooling in his belly at her show of anger. Burnt molasses started to seep from her skin. “Asshole.” She muttered under her breath, her fingers looping as far around his wrist as they’d go and pulling his arm to her chest. She dropped a kiss against his pulse, nipping the skin. “Did he hurt you?”

“Doesn’t matter now, Frail,” he brushed off her concern and concentrated on the feeling of her teeth on his skin. “No use in hating someone who’s long dead.” Hypocrite, the voice in his head rumbled and he locked it away with a silent, angry snarl.

He still hated his father.

He had every fucking right to hate his father.

“You don’t sound very convinced..” her brows were drawn in tight and she looked worried. “You wanna tell me about it?” At his nonplussed look she smiled softly, “I mean, you don’t have to now, but if you ever do…” she trailed off and turned back around, leaning back into his chest and splashing the hot water over her arms and shoulders.

He mulled it over. The only person who knew about his past was Jimmy and fuck, hadn’t it been a long ass time since he’d thought about him. He pushed aside the brief curiosity about where the runt was now, what he was up to or if he was even still alive and relaxed back into the side of the tub. Her hands were resting on his thighs, fingers drawing small circles on the skin underneath the water.

“He was a drunk,” he murmured and she went still, listening.  “A lousy, good for nothing drunk who decided that locking me up once my mutation manifested was in the best interest for all.”

“Please tell me you mean he’d lock you in your room?”

He scoffed and it lacked any humor whatsoever. “Frail, it was the eighteen hundreds - we didn’t have multiple rooms in our house let alone bedrooms,” he spat, “We had living quarters and a fucking cellar. Take a guess which one he picked.” He’d been nine years old and locked in the dirty, dark and damp cellar for weeks on end as his mutation developed. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, his body grew strong and his teeth and fingernails had thickened, lengthened into what they were today. Occasionally he’d get thrown some food but only when his old man had sobered up and the guilt had started to eat at him. God, he didn’t miss being a starving brat.

Anna tensed and he smelled her anxiety ratcheting up and up and up as she realized what he meant, the air thick with the overwhelming scent of her fear. He ran his fingers over her head and nuzzled her neck, sensing her panic.

“He locked you in the fucking _cellar_?! Wha- _Why_?!”

Victor shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine,” his hands stroked at her back and shoulders until her scent started to sweeten out, her breathing returning to normal.

“I’d kill him if he was still alive…” she mumbled, eyes closed and limbs loose from his ministrations.

He snorted, “Hate to spoil your fun, but someone beat you to it, Frail.”

She hummed, “Good.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before he gave her a nudge. She was starting to drop off to sleep.

“Hungry?”

She nodded, sitting forward and watching him climb out of the tub, droplets of water dripping off him. “Starving.” Judging from the way she was looking at him he wasn’t sure whether she meant for food or him.

He grabbed a towel from the nearby counter and rubbed it over his head. “C’mon, Frail,” he ushered her out of the bath and threw a smaller, fluffy towel in her direction. “Let’s get you fed.”

“Room service?” She sounded hopeful and he snorted, shaking his head.

“Restaurant downstairs. Put on somethin’ nice.”

 

**

She smoothed the hem of her dress with trembling, careful fingers. It was her favorite once and she had kept it just because, just in case there was ever a time or place that called for something pretty. Something fancy. The pale purple fabric clung to her curves and hit her mid thigh, the criss-cross pattern making her look longer and leaner and her dark hair pop. Her arms were bare, the tiny cap sleeves barely even covering her shoulders and there was a keyhole of pale, unblemished skin between her shoulder blades. She couldn’t wear a bra with the dress and she hoped that nobody else noticed. She knew that Victor would but then hey, she didn’t mind _him_ thinking inappropriately about her.

At all.

There was a scratchy, impatient rapping on the door and Victor’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Frail, my gut it eating itself.” He snarled. “Hurry the fuck up.”

She quickly twisted her hair back into a loose, messy bun and stepped into her heels, holding her purse in her teeth. “’m coming,” she managed around the small black purse as she flung the door open and what she saw gave her pause.

Holy shit.

Holy ‘I think I’d need to change my underwear if I were wearing any’ shit.

Victor was leaning by the door, checking the time on his watch and he was wearing a charcoal suit with a forest green button down shirt, collar open and shiny black shoes, not paying one bit of attention to her as she waited for him to notice her. His shoulders were almost impossibly wide and the jacket fit him perfectly, no doubt made to measure. Fuck knew he couldn’t get anything off the rack to fit his mammoth frame and hello, look at that backside..

Finally, after what seemed like minutes but was only seconds, he looked up and his eyes bled into her favorite shade of whiskey gold. He breathed in deeply and took a slow step towards her.

“Are you wearin’ anything under that scrap?” He murmured, head cocked and advancing on her.

She resisted the urge to turn and run, knowing it would trigger his hunting instinct and stood her ground.  She felt giddy inside, butterflies swarming low in her belly as he prowled closer. Ah, but running would be so. Much. Fun.

“Nope.” She popped the P and clutched at her purse, eyes slipping closed just a little as he ran clawed fingers up the outside of her thigh and up under her dress. He hummed softly, a rough, gravelly sound.

“Gonna be the damned death of me,” he murmured before he swatted her on the ass. “But what a way to go.”

She bounced onto her toes with a huff of laughter, almost giggling as he ushered her out the door.

God, she’d missed him.

 

 

 


	27. 27.

Anna settled happily back into the corner of the elevator, her shoes hanging from her fingers and her belly full. She was pleasantly buzzed and she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Her hair was coming loose from the pins and her cheeks were pink from the alcohol but she’d had a wonderful evening. She’d never been privy to watching Creed really eat his fill before. Sure she’d seen him snacking and having something to eat here and there, but they’d never eaten a meal out anywhere together and he’d certainly never eaten half a damned cow in front of her like he had that evening. Ok, so it wasn’t half a cow but it was the biggest piece of steak she had ever seen and if she’d had a weaker stomach, the blood still leeching from it on the plate would have put her off. It didn’t, but it should have.

“Back to your quarters, Ma’am?”

She smiled at the bellhop and nodded self-consciously. Victor had walked her to the elevator and physically put her inside before he’d stepped back out and assured her he’d be back in a few minutes; that she needed to go back to the apartment.

She scrutinized his name tag and looked back up. “Yes please, Carson.”

He shot her a polite smile and pressed the button for the floor she’d need to go to before departing her current elevator to find the next one that took her direct to the apartment. “Very good, Ma’am.”

She studied him as she waited. He had sandy blonde hair with brown eyes, couldn’t have been more than two years out of high school and he was a short little thing, even shorter than her but Victor had been happy enough to leave her in his care so she wondered what he was hiding. Was he a mutant too? Is that why Victor was confident that he could protect her?

The elevator doors slid open and he stepped out, ushering her along the hallway to the far end of the corridor where the second elevator was hidden. He pushed a button and the doors opened immediately.

“Have a pleasant evening, Ma’am.” He nodded and stepped back as the doors closed behind her and she was alone for the first time in what felt like months.

Hell, it probably was.

Between Victor’s solid, warm presence and the time she had spent with her brothers in Kansas City she hadn’t spent any time by herself since before all of this hellish nightmare began. Sure, it seemingly coincided with meeting the big man but then who knew how long the cameras had been on her old apartment before he’d shown up?

She pulled at the pins holding her hair back and shook it loose, black strands falling down her back, bare feet padding along the plush carpet towards the door to the apartment where she punched in the code on the door – 1807- and settled her palm flat over the scanner. The little lights flashed green and she smiled to herself as the door clicked open.

The main living room was large and open but sparsely decorated. There were a few sofas and some chairs, a medium sized dining table setting off to the side and a large television set in the wall as well as a similar stereo system to the one that Victor had in his dockside home in New York. She immediately moved towards the stereo, shoes discarded on the floor by the door and flipped it on, the little red lights glowing to life. It took a little bit of scrounging around but she found her ipod and an AUX cable in her bag and hooked it up, music flooding the apartment through the linked sound system.

She sighed, a happy little sound and carefully moved from room to room, checked underneath the beds and in the closets before she returned back to the master bedroom and started to peel her dress off, fingers reaching behind her to unzip the scrap of fabric as Victor had called it. She hummed softly to the piano and swayed to herself as the drums kicked in, eyes falling closed as she listened to the moody music.

After getting redressed in a sports bra and a loose fitting pair of pajama pants that hung low on her hips, Anna slunk into the kitchen for a glass of water. Whilst she was at the fridge the lights flashed once, twice and then she heard the click of the door opening and instinct had her hiding around the corner, eyes shut and breathing rapid.

“… Frail?”

She opened her eyes and blew out a slightly steadier breath. “I’m here..” She stepped out from around the corner, her glass still held aloft in her fingers. “I’m here.”

He looked her up and down, brows furrowed.  “You stink of fear, Frail… Why?”

She bit her lip and shrugged lightly. “I wasn’t sure who was coming in. I know you said it was secure, but..” she trailed off and set her glass down.

“Nobody but you and me can access this apartment unless I say so. No staff, no cleaners, nobody. I have to let them in.” He bumped her as he reached by her and drained the glass she had just put down. “Relax.”

She shot him a worn smile and rubbed at her arms. “I’m sorry, I just-“

“Don’t.” He stopped her, rough fingers stroking the bare skin of her shoulder. “So I missed you taking your dress off, huh?”

“Well, yeah, I-” she backed up slightly as he advanced toward her and her heart began to hammer in her chest, pulse visibly jumping in her throat. A sick sort of glee took over her and she took one, two, three more steps backwards before turning on her heel and running towards the bedroom. She could hear the gravel rough chuckle and sensed the moment he took chase.

She didn’t even make it to the door before he had her over his shoulder and was hauling her into the bedroom, hand on her ass. Her heels were in his other hand and he tossed her onto the bed with a bounce and dropped the shoes by her feet.

“Shoes on, Frail,” he ordered, “-clothes off.”

 

**

She put her feet on the floor and wriggled her toes, fingers running over the supple leather of her new boots. They had appeared on the end of the bed that morning along with a scratchy hand written note telling her to go explore the casino and that Carson would be waiting for her when she was ready. Victor had gone to take care of something and was leaving her in his capable hands.

The boots were soft, looked handmade and laced to just below the knee. The leather was a charcoal grey and the stitching a bold, plum purple. The laces were black.

She had wriggled into her favorite jeans and pulled on a pale purple button up blouse, grabbed her jacket and was out the door in less than ten minutes, fingers running through her hair as she strolled down the hallway.

Carson was waiting for her by the service elevator. “Good morning, Ma’am.” He pushed off the wall and straightened when he saw her coming in his direction. His uniform was missing and instead he was wearing a pair of well loved blue jeans and a black button up shirt, his hair a messy shock of blonde. Brown eyes watched her approach and he smiled warmly.

She shot him a soft smile. “You can call me Anna, Carson.”

He flushed pink and shook his head, stammering out his reply. “Oh no, Ma’am, I couldn’t. It’s not polite.”

She laughed as he guided her into the elevator, a hand level with her waist but a good six inches clear of it. He didn’t dare touch her, Victor would know and would happily have his head.

“You can’t keep calling me ‘Ma’am’, Carson.”

He fidgeted slightly, taking them to the ground floor. “How about ‘Miss Anna’?” At her raised eyebrow he hurried to take it back. “Or I can think of something else!”

She smiled, putting him at ease. She could see him relax slightly and she felt for the boy. “Miss Anna is fine.” She went to bump him with her elbow and surprise rippled through her when she encountered so much resistance that she could barely touch him. Her hand pushed at the invisible force field lightly and her mouth fell open. It felt like she was touching a rippling wall of freezing cold pins and needles. She blinked at him and he shot her a smile that looked more like a grimace when he saw her rub her fingers together, confused.

“I’m sorry, Miss Anna, I can’t turn it off when I’m nervous.”

She felt even more awful. “Why are you nervous? Is it me?” It took some prodding but finally he answered.

He swallowed. “If Mr. Creed found out I’d laid a hand on you, Miss, he’d have my head. And my hands. And the rest of me.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ and she nodded. He was right. Victor was possessive and he would hurt the boy if he suspected he’d put a toe out of line.

“I don’t want you to be nervous around me, Carson. Just treat me like I’m a sister.”

He frowned. “Miss, I don’t have any siblings. I wouldn’t know how.”

“… a cousin?” She got a sinking feeling in her belly when he looked even more uncomfortable and shook his head. “Sweetie,” she started, “-do you have any family?”

He shook his head. “No, Miss.”

She felt ill. This boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen and he was living in Vegas, working in a Casino and he had absolutely no family whatsoever. He was a sweet kid, a little shocky but sweet enough and polite to boot. She chewed the inside of her cheek, wanting to swear at the injustice of it. She decided to change the subject and followed him out of the elevator and into the lobby of the bustling casino, sticking close as he led her through the crowd.

“How long have you worked here, Carson?” She asked, stepping around a small group of gamblers.

He looked sideways at her, never losing sight and never more than six inches from her elbow. “A little over a year,” he looked left, then right and they stopped in a small alcove where it was a little quieter and she could decide where she would like to go first. “Mr. Creed hired me right out of school.” He clapped his hands together and looked around. “Where to first, Miss?”

She looked out through the doors onto the strip and shrunk back a little bit, looking around. “Show me everything in the building.” She decided finally. “I want to see it all.”

He shot her a bright, sunny smile and nodded. “That, I can do.”

 

 

 

 


	28. 28.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a filler chapter, people! Enjoy regardless!

Anna was at the bar – on the customer’s side for once, no less – three hours later when she heard a snippet of a conversation that made her smile into her drink. Carson was across the room giving her some space whilst she ate and behind her at one of the round tables was a gaggle of women on a hens vacation, two of which were gossiping about the man they had come across the night before. She gathered it was a stripper or one of the dancers from down the strip judging by some of the things they were saying about him, some of it making her ears red and she thanked whoever was listening that she’d worn her hair down to hide them that morning. She did not need to know about the oral technique that they would use on him and she was damn sure she didn’t need to know about potentially having to dislocate her jaw to take him in her mouth.

“-swear to god, the biggest man I have ever seen!”

There was a grating giggle and another voice piped in, “Tell me about it! Did you see the size of his hands?! God, the damage he could do with just those alone… Fuck, I’d love every minute of it!”

Anna only half listened, too busy picking at her French fries and chicken salad. They didn’t have much on the bar menu that she had been interested in so Carson had disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with her lunch, bless his little heart.

The women behind her erupted into laughter and their voices grew louder.

“There is no way a man like that would take no for an answer, God, can you imagine?” One of them exclaimed, “I’ll bet he’s the type to smack you around a little in the bedroom..” there was a low whistle and the laughter was quickly starting to grate on her nerves. She almost felt sorry for whoever they were tittering about.

Another voice piped in. “Ronnie, a man like him wouldn’t just smack you around in the bedroom. Look at him,” she spat, “He’s a fucking beast.”

Something twigged and she put her French fry down on the plate, hand hanging aloft and chewed slowly. No, she thought, there’s no way…

Someone, Ronnie, she supposed, snorted. “But what a way to go, right? I wonder if he’s proportionate? Can you imagine…? I don’t think I’d be able to walk for a week and my downstairs would never be the same again, but fucking hell, I would.” There was a hiss and the voices grew quieter, hushed now instead of the loud, bawdy bitchiness she’d previously been listening to. “He’s coming over..”

Their voices grew quiet and Anna picked up her fork again, relieved that they’d shut up but mildly interested in seeing whoever it was they were talking about.

Big, clawed hands crept into her line of sight and splayed across the bar either side of her and she swallowed slowly. God, she’d had a feeling they were talking about him. His body heat leeched into her back and he nosed her hair and took a deep, deep breath. She suppressed a shiver, too distracted by her fury.

“What’s got you so riled, hmm?”

She lifted her fork to her mouth carefully, taking another mouthful of the shredded chicken and salad. She didn’t turn to look at him, anger pushing through her veins as she mulled over what those women had been saying about Victor. The awful, crude, nasty assumptions they’d made about him. How fucking dare they assume that just because of his stature that he was abusive?! Sure, they got some things sort of right, he was big all over and he could fuck you up royally with just two fingers if he wasn’t being careful, but that was just it. He was careful with her, he minded his claws and hadn’t once hurt her in a way that would permanently maim her.

“Nothing.” She lied, knowing he could smell it on her a mile off.

He grew still and reached around her, pushing the plate away from her when she continued eating and didn’t pay him any attention. He tried again. “Try again – you fucking stink of burnt molasses.” Fuck him for being so big and loud and brash. Fuck him for knowing. She could feel eyes on them.

She clenched her jaw, eyes downcast as she heard the women mumbling and murmuring behind her. She wanted to turn around and bottle one of them, smash her wine glass over their heads and laugh. Shit, she’d been spending too much time alone with Victor.

“Anna,” he prodded. She glanced at him after he used her given name, something he rarely did. “Explain.”

She crumpled, turning and burying her face in the curve of his neck, his huge shoulders hiding her from view. “They’re saying shit about you and I want to bottle them.” She mumbled into his skin, knowing he’d hear her loud and clear and she felt his shoulders tense.

“You gunna defend my honor, Frail?” She didn’t know he could be so quiet, one of his hands coming up to stroke her hair back from her face. “Tell me more about this bottling.”

She snarled into his collar and found herself imagining all the things she wanted to do to them. “What does it matter?”

He didn’t bother looking at the offending table of women, merely wrapped long, clawed fingers around the back of her neck and squeezed lightly, pulling her hair. Her scent spiked with ginger and he grinned, hands curving around her waist. “That anger, the swell of fury you feel when they said all that shit about me…?” he purred, “Fuck you smell good, Frail. Makes me want to spread you out along the bar and eat your pretty little puss right here, right now..”

Her whole body warmed and she flushed pink, eyes rolling up to look at him. His eyes glinted amber under the shitty bar lights.

“I’ve got a meeting, Frail. Do you think you can hold out until I’m done?”

She wet her lips and nodded, her cheeks coloring with a little surprise, a little lust when he leaned down and nipped at her mouth. She could taste blood on the inside of her bottom lip and she tongued at it before surging up to kiss him square on the mouth, knowing he’d taste the coppery slick.

The table behind them went dead quiet and he grinned into her mouth.

“Tease,” he sniped, swatting her on the backside. “Get Carson to take you back upstairs,” he told her. “I wont be longer than twenty minutes.”

She looked mournfully at her lunch. She’d been enjoying it. “But..”

“Go, Frail,” He demanded, taking a few steps backward so he was almost level with the table full of women. He raised his voice just that little bit too much and fixed her with a look that she knew was full of promise. “When I get back I’m gunna fuck you so hard you won’t walk for a week.”

She snorted into her glass, choking. Damn it, she should have known he would have heard every word they’d said.

She smirked over the edge of her wine and held the glass up to him in a salute. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

**

“That’ll be fifteen dollars rent, please.”

Carson looked at her, lip curled and brows low. “I only have fourteen dollars left!”

Anna grinned and thumbed at her pile of cash, then glanced around the board. She had always been a shark when it came to Monopoly and when Carson had suggested they play a game she had jumped at the chance. She’d not played a full game since she was young, most of the time the games dissolving into arguments and fully fledged fist fights between her brothers.

Fuck she loved to win.

She stretched out her legs either side of the board, the heavy cardboard square set between her knees and made a sound of contemplation. They were sitting in the hall outside the apartment and had been there for the past four hours. Cookie wrappers and an empty ice cream tub sat nearby, beer bottles littering the floor.

“I’ll waive your rent and give you fifty bucks if you trade me all four railways and this here little red property.” She tapped on the board and laughed aloud at the incredulous look on the young man’s face.

He blustered. “You’re a thief, Miss Anna!”

She shrugged. “You do what you’ve gotta do, Carson. Either take the deal or declare bankruptcy.”

He scowled and threw down his money. “See, this is why the little guy can’t win in this day and age. It’s crooks like you that stop us from getting a foot on the property ladder, Miss Anna! You’re a crook!”

She laughed so hard she almost had an accident and fell over sideways, scattering the tiny red hotels off the board and across the carpet. “LOSER!”

He snarled playfully. “CHEATER!”

The pair were both laughing uncontrollably when the elevator doors opened and Victor stepped out into the hall, damn near necking himself when he tripped over a stray beer bottle.

“Are you two out of your fucking minds?” He asked dryly, brows raised.

Anna giggled, rolling onto her belly and then pushing up to her hands and knees. She tried to speak but dissolved into giggles again and Carson sobered a little, smiling up at his boss.

“Sorry, Sir, but she’s a bad influence.”

He scoffed and hauled her off the floor, big boot landing smack in the middle of the game board. He keyed in the door code and turned back to where Carson was tidying the game pieces quietly. “See you in the morning, Kid.”

He waved them off with a tentative smile. “G’night Sir. Goodnight, Miss Anna.”

 

 

 


	29. 29.

She looked out the window, leg slung over the arm of the massive chair that Victor usually sprawled in, foot bouncing up and down. It had been a week since she had arrived in Vegas and whilst the casino was beautiful and she’d been having a good time, she was bored. Restless, more like.

“Bored,” she called out to the big man in the bathroom. Well, she thought he was in the bathroom. A hand swept over the top of her head and she jumped, heart in her throat and gasped. Behind her, Victor paused, inhaling her momentary panic with a smirk. “Victor,” she whined, “I’m bored!”

He sighed inwardly and continued on to the kitchenette for coffee. “Go out then.”

She perked up immediately, sitting up, foot dropping to the floor with a thud. “Really?!”

He shrugged, his giant hands dwarfing the coffee mug, maker and everything else along the way. He knew he couldn’t keep her locked away for long so he’d employed trusted current employees to take care of her when he wasn’t around, for when he was taking care of casino business.

He scowled into his coffee. It seemed that every bastard he didn’t want to deal with concerning the casino came out of the woodwork as soon as he set foot in town. He had investors hassling his management team, he had his management team hassling him and the fucking security team… Don’t get him started on them. He’d fired no less than seven of them for being just plain useless as it was. He sometimes wondered if holding onto the casino was worth it.

God, he hated people.

“If you go out on the strip, Frail…”

She paused in her getting dressed and looked at him through the neck of her shirt, halfway over her head. “Hmm?” She toppled sideways and struggled the rest of the way into her clothes before reaching for her purple boots.

He shook his head at her childish exuberance, unable to help the smirk form creeping onto his face.

“Take the kid with you.” At her look of confusion, “Carson. Take Carson with you.”

“Oh!” She nodded enthusiastically. “I was going to. He seems lonely and I think he needs a friend.”

Creed quirked an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter top. “Oh, he does?”

The kid – Carson – had come to him fresh out of high school, emancipated at a young age and then completely orphaned at fifteen when his no good drunk of a father had swallowed a bullet. He’d never had a mother or siblings and his father had been an only child himself. No grandparents, nothing. The kid was a loner – completely nerve wracked and terrified, living as close to the streets as it were possible whilst still having a roof over his head and Victor had taken pity on him.

Well, more like he’d seen something he liked when he’d sprung him stealing from one of the armored cars dropping off the cash for a neighboring casino. He hadn’t tried to take the lot, he wasn’t greedy, just a solitary fifty dollar bill so he could feed himself for the week. Since bringing him on board there had been no successful robbery attempts whatsoever. The kid had a knack for knowing when something was off. He was reliable and observant and he wouldn’t have anyone else watch Anna’s back.

“Wait,” she puttered to a stop by the doorway, bag in hand. “Why do I have to take him with me?”

Victor shrugged nonchalantly. “Kid needs a friend.”

She studied him for a long moment before shrugging and bouncing over to him, planting a wet, smacking kiss on his face and rubbing up against him. He quirked a brow at her antics and she bit her lip, suddenly shy.

“So I smell of you,” she mumbled, cheeks pink. “You know, just in case I come across another feral.”

He hummed in approval and grabbed her by the back of the neck, pulling her in close and licked a wet stripe up her pulse point on her throat. “Good idea.” His voice was gruff and he pushed her towards the door. “Go,” he insisted, “Have fun.”

**

“Oh my god,” she moaned, eyes closed as she practically inhaled her cocktail. “So fucking good.”

Carson laughed, sipping at what was left of the Long Island Iced Tea she’d gotten him, eyes flitting left and right beneath his sunglasses. He’d been instructed he was to look out for her and treat her like she was family and really, that wasn’t a problem. She was more his family already than his blood had been in well, forever.

They had walked the entire strip and although it had taken them a good while, Anna was bouncing with excitement. It was the first time she had been outside in a week and whilst she loved spending time with Victor – and she really did love spending time with him – she was glad to be out on her own and tasting the freedom she had been lacking.

“So,” she set down her empty glass and tugged Carson to his feet, looping her arm through his elbow. “Tell me about you, Carson.”

He flushed slightly and looked a little wary, strolling alongside his charge. “What do you want to know, Miss?”

She talked with her hands a lot, he noted and it brought a smile to his face. She was bright and bubbly and fun and he liked her. Very much.  

“Anything,” she declared, “Everything!”

He huffed a small, embarrassed laugh and gently directed her around a small group of tourists. “That doesn’t really narrow it down, Miss Anna.” He joked and she groaned.

“Don’t make me work for it, Carson!”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed at her small cheer, “I was born here in Vegas, nineteen years ago.”

She nodded as they walked, her arm firmly wrapped around his. She bumped his shoulder with her own. “When’s your birthday?”

“March eighteen.” He answered with little to no hesitation. “Haven’t celebrated it in some time though. Not really much call for it, you know?”

Anna hummed and frowned but kept looking ahead of her. She knew the last thing he needed was her pity but Jesus, the kid couldn’t catch a break. Nineteen years old and already so jaded. It was sad. She saw so much of a young Thomas in him that she wanted to bundle him up and adopt him. She idly wondered if it were possible to adopt a nineteen year old adult?

“What’s your favorite color?”

He mulled it over. “Orange, I think.” He pointed out the amusement rides up ahead and quirked a brow at her in question, smiling when she bounced and started dragging him along behind her. Soon enough they were safely bundled into a pod on the ferris wheel and she sat opposite him with a grin.

“I like purple.” She continued their conversation and he snorted. Her boots were purple, her blouse was purple and her hat was a pretty shade of violet.

“I’d never have guessed.” He replied, deadpan, relaxing into the seat. “Thought it was amber.”

She hummed, smirking. “Victor _does_ have pretty amber eyes…” she mused and giggled at his flush. “No, seriously, he does.”

He smiled a small, tentative smile. “Only when he looks at you, Miss.”

It was her turn to go pink now. “Carson..”

Shrugging, he looked out over the strip as they went round another circuit. “It’s true, Miss Anna. Never seen him with a lady before. I mean sure, he’d come to town a couple of times a year and women would try to get his attention, but he’s never taken up with one before.”

Intrigued, Anna cocked her head. “Seriously?”

“Yes, Miss.”

She bit her lip and looked out at the bustle of the street. “I don’t,” she paused. “Do you know why you’ve been assigned to take care of me?”

He eyed her cautiously. Sir had been most adamant that she wasn’t told he was a bodyguard. He was meant to be her friend first and foremost, to give her a sense of comfort.

“Carson, I’m not dumb. I know Victor has asked you to take care of me.”

He sighed and nodded. “Sir told me to look after you, yes,” he admitted. “I wasn’t anticipating enjoying the detail so much though.”

His shy smile made her grin.

“I enjoy your company too.”

“Are we friends, Miss?” he asked out of nowhere, fingers twitching and wringing the hem of his shirt.

She blinked, nodding. “Of course we are. Well, **_I_** thought we were.” His quiet admittance that he’d not had many friends so he wasn’t sure made her heart clench and she desperately wanted to beat whoever had given him such low self-worth. “S’ok, sweetie,” she told him as the ride slowed to a stop. “I don’t have many friends either.”

“You have Mr. Creed..?”

She smirked at him and dragged him towards the nearby food truck. “Honey, Mr. Creed is decidedly NOT my friend.” She laughed. “He’s my lover.”

Carson looked at her, confused. “But surely they go hand in hand? You lover should be your friend.” He looked self conscious and unsure. “… right?”

She’d never thought of it that way. “I suppose you’re right.” Anna looked him over and stuffed a wadge of cotton candy into his open mouth. “What about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Both?”

He shook his head, chewing. “None of the above,” he guided her back towards the casino, hand barely touching her waist. “I’m all for love but I don’t,” he paused. “I’m asexual.” He blurted and she suddenly felt like she’d put her foot in it. She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable.

Suddenly it made sense why Victor was so comfortable with her spending time with him. Carson was no threat but then neither was any other man to her. Fuck, she wanted to hit the big oaf for being such a pig but she had the feeling that he would enjoy it.

Ass.

“It’s alright, Miss.” He reassured her. “It’s not something I have a problem with sharing, I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You making me uncomfortable?? Hardly!” She winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. It’s a habit.” She smiled as he bumped her shoulder with his. “Do you wanna get some dinner?”

He smiled and nodded emphatically. “Lead the way!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	30. 30.

The first slap took him by surprise but he sure as hell saw the second one coming and then the third.

The solid jab to the nose however, that one startled him, as did the sharp crack of breaking bone.

“How _dare_ you use him like that!”

He hauled himself to his feet and out of reach, casually resetting his nose and spitting a wad of blood onto the desk. “What the actual _fuck_ , Frail??”

She stood her ground although she was visibly surprised by her ability to injure him. She chewed her lip and then shook her head, features growing dark again. Her anger swelled and her scent grew sharp and bitter, her hands on her hips.

“You used that poor boy because you knew he wouldn’t be attracted to me!” She looked hurt. Shit. “How could you? Don’t you trust me, Victor?”

He looked out of the corner of his eye at her, wiping the cherry red blood from his mouth and face with his shirt. “It’s not you I don’t trust, Frail.” He muttered under his breath. “I try to do something nice for fucking once and you take it the wrong way. Why the hell do I bother, Anna? Why. Do. I. Bother?” He peeled his shirt off and threw it across the room, his voice rising in volume as he continued. “Forgive me for assuming that you’d be more comfortable with someone who wasn’t likely to be grabbing your ass and making a pass at you!”

Silence.

“You,” she stuttered slightly and her anger took on a more muted scent, “you did it for me?”

He snarled at her, stalking into the bathroom to check his nose was set properly. “Who the hell taught you how to throw a punch?” He deflected.

She swallowed audibly and hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands. “Victor, I’m sorry..”

Once he was satisfied that his nose was indeed still straight he gripped the sink in both hands and sniffed. All he could smell was his own blood and shame. She was ashamed.

“Victor, please…” She pleaded, “Look at me?”

He turned to look at her and raised one brow, arms folded across his chest, back resting against the counter top. “You broke my fucking nose, Frail.” Whilst he admired her fiery streak – and by god she had one a mile wide – he didn’t appreciate being sucker punched.

She ignored that, instead taking a step into the starkly lit bathroom. “Even if someone else made a pass at me, they wouldn’t get anywhere.” She rested a hand on his stomach, nails scraping the dark fuzz that disappeared beneath the waist of his jeans.  “I’m crazy for you, Victor, nobody else.” She pulled at the button on his jeans and popped it open. “Just you.”

He buried his hands in her hair, making her look up at him. “And as I said, Frail, it’s not you I don’t trust.”

She virtually climbed up him and wrapped an arm around his neck, one leg curling around his hip and the other lifting to join it with a little help from his capable hands. “So I can go out with Carson again tomorrow?” She asked into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip.

He growled. “If you can walk after I’m done with you, you can do what you damn well please.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a fucking challenge, Frail…”

 

**

Carson was waiting for Anna to come out of the bathroom, eyes seemingly trained on the phone in his hand but behind his glasses he was watching the crowd around him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him and had been the last few times he and Anna had left the casino.

As soon as he saw Anna’s familiar dark head coming out the door he held out his arm and she looked at him, eyes widening ever so slightly. She had a cool poker face and he was proud of the fact that she wasn’t openly freaking out. Victor had coached her well.

“Time to go?” she asked, looping her arm through his and leaning in.

He forced a smile and nodded. “I think lunch back at the apartment sounds good, don’t you?” He didn’t know for sure if they were being followed yet but that feeling, the deep itch under his skin that told him something was wrong wouldn’t go away.

She smiled at him, her fingers gripping his arm tight as can be. “Lead the way.”

The walk back to the casino was tense and they didn’t speak until they were through the doors and Carson waved over one of the armed security personnel. He’d spotted their tail.

“Grey flannel and blue jeans, shaved head.” He muttered, sending her on ahead but watching her the whole time. “He’s been following us for the last half hour.”

The guard gave a nod and disappeared, talking hurriedly into his comms unit and Carson rushed to catch up with Anna, diving into the elevator as the doors were sliding shut.

He sidled up beside her and lifted his hand. He wanted to comfort her but he wasn’t sure how. “Miss?”

She shot him a look, thumbnail between her teeth. “It wasn’t him.” She was sure of it. “But who the hell was it?”

He couldn’t answer her. He’d never seen the man before but he knew it was something significant when they stopped for a bathroom break and so did he, only moving again into the crowd when they did.

“Have you seen him before?”

She shook her head, fingers trembling. “I – no. No, I haven’t.”

He carefully wrapped her fingers in his hands and squeezed. “It’s alright, Miss. Security will grab him as soon as he comes in the building and we can talk to him.” At her stricken look he hurried to amend his previous statement. “Someone will talk to him. You don’t have to be there at all.”

He walked down to the next elevator with her, her hand still wrapped in his and jabbed at the button. The doors opened to reveal Creed in all his glory; black tactical pants, boots and a black fitted-as-fuck t-shirt. He wore a furious expression and his eyes were a dark, coffee color, gold hints making him look more feline than normal. He was angry.

He had a phone in his huge hand and as soon as he locked eyes with Anna she threw herself at him.

Carson stood back, eyes adverted until the whispering stopped and she cleared her throat.

“Take her to the apartment and stay with her.” Creed ordered and Carson nodded quickly, following her into the small mirrored space. She immediately grabbed for his hand and shot him an embarrassed smile when he glanced at their joined hands.

“… sorry,” she moved to untangle their fingers and Carson held fast. She needed him to hold her hand and that was ok.

“S’ok, Miss.” He reassured her. “Really, it’s alright.”

She sighed and stepped into his outstretched arm, head bent to rest on his shoulder. “You give good hugs.” She mumbled into his shirt and he smiled.

“Thank you, Miss.”

She gave his waist a squeeze and stepped back as the door opened outside her apartment. “No, Carson. Thank you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	31. 31.

It was the first time that anyone other than herself or Victor had been allowed into the apartment since they had arrived. Sure, the cleaning was done but that was done by them, she either picked up after herself or Victor stripped the beds back and new sheets were delivered to outside the door. He didn’t trust other people in his space so allowing Carson inside was huge.

Carson had a peek around the main living area and as soon as he spotted the kitchen he was on the move.

“Where do you keep your mugs?” He asked, looking back at her.

Anna cleared her throat, trying not to cry. “Uh, third cupboard on the left.” She waved in the general direction. “Victor is always bitching that they’re too low but I can’t reach up high like him.” She was rambling, she knew she was but damned if she was about to stop. If she stopped she was going to cry.

Carson shot her a smile, laughing a little and immediately set to making her a cup of coffee, the drip machine coming to life.

“I don’t understand,” she started, voice thick with un-shed tears, “-why hasn’t he been caught yet. How does he know where I am? I mean, he isn’t anything special so how does he keep finding me?”

Carson brought her coffee over and set it down in front of her. He dropped onto the sofa beside her and she immediately curled into him, knees pulled up and hair over her face.

“Maybe he has someone helping him?”

Anna huffed. “Mother dearest probably,” she spat. “God knows I got enough threats from her after he was locked away. S’why I moved to New York eventually.”

He gave her a wistful smile. “Always wanted to go to New York.” His tone took on a hint of pleading, excitement bleeding through. “Tell me about it? Please?”

Despite the shit hitting the fan whilst she was there, she had fond memories of New York.

“It’s a beautiful city, especially when it snows. It’s chaos, but beautiful chaos.”

He rubbed her arm, cheek resting on top of her head. “I like that description.” He looked out the window. “Have you ever been to central park? I hear it’s pretty spectacular in the winter.”

“I didn’t get to go ice skating like I wanted to, but I managed to get there just after I arrived in the city. Before I met Victor.” She clarified, peering up at him. “It was pretty.”

Carson grinned, cheeks dimpling adorably. She wanted to reach up and pinch them, so she did.

“You’re adorable,” she dropped a kiss on the back of his hand and snuggled closer, smiling at his blush. “Have you ever left Vegas?”

He shrugged and shook his head. “Nope, never had the pleasure, I’m afraid.”

“Boo.”

“I grew up in the city… Never even seen a cow in real life.” He smirked at her look of disbelief. “Ever.””

She sat up and looked at him long and hard. “Bullshit.”

He laughed, cheeks turning pink. “I’m serious! I’ve never been outside city limits so… No cows.”

Anna gaped a little. He’d never been out of the city? The poor kid. She huffed. “Well you’re not missing much,” she told him, “They’re big and dumb and they smell fucking awful. Especially after they’ve gotten wet in the rain.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She shook her head, settling back into his side. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen a cow before. What the fuck, Carson. What, the fuck.”

He smiled and listened to her muttering. Operation distract Anna complete. Now he just had to wait for Mr Creed to return, whenever that may be.

 

**

Victor wiped his hands with a scrap of cloth, picking at the underside of his nails, seemingly bored. God, he loved it when they begged.

“Now,” he tossed the cloth onto the table and took a seat beside the little cretin who had been following his Frail, “-you’re going to tell me everything you know and you’re going to start talking now.”

The young man beside him burst into tears, cradling his broken, mangled hand to his chest and the pleading started again.

“Please! I don’t know anything!”

Victor leaned in and ran his nose up the length of his neck, inhaling deeply. He was throwing off all kinds of delicious scents; fear, horror, pain and most importantly, he was lying. He was lying through his teeth.

“Whilst I admire your guts, kid, you need to stop with the bullshit.” He told him plainly. “I know you’re lying.”

The sobbing only increased and the hiccupping started. “I.. don’t..”

A low snarl began to build in Victor’s chest and he leaned in, getting in the other man’s space. “Lying.” He sniffed at the next proclamation of innocence and extended his claws on his left hand. They dug into the table top and made a sharp cracking sound as the laminate split. “ _Still_ lying.”

“Wh-what do you want to know?” He blurted out after seeing the claws, eyes wide and red rimmed from tears.

“Why were you following her?” He didn’t use her name, he wanted to see what the kid knew and how much he was willing to give away. “SPEAK!”

The other man gave a violent flinch and wailed, cringing. He was a criminal, that was certain, but he definitely wasn’t a top of the ladder type. Victor’s eyebrow lifted and he sneered, taking a step away as the man let go of his bladder, wetting himself. “You know that isn’t going to stop me, right? I could care less even if you shit yourself, kid. Tell me what I want to know and I might let you go.”

“My old cellie,” he cried, “he showed me a picture! Called me when he got out and said that Anna was being held captive by some guy! Said he’d been stalking her!” He let out a shrill wail as his face bounced off the table top and Victor immediately scented blood. The man sniveled to himself, blood running down his chin in thick globs. “Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t kill me!”

Victor ignored him, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look up. His face was a bloody mess, nose broken and eyebrow split, cheek swelling rapidly. It was almost certainly broken too.

He growled and gave him a shake. “Continue.”

In between sobs, the other man managed to wheeze out an explanation that by the end of it, had Victor seeing red.

“Where is he now?”

The man gurgled slightly, spitting blood onto the table and onto Victor’s leg. He flinched violently when he realized what he had done, eyes growing wide and face pale.

Victor sighed, eyes rolling skyward, hands on his hips. “See, now I have to change before I leave.” He lifted his big foot and lashed out, kicking the legs out from under the chair his guest was sitting in so hard that they splintered and fell away and he landed face first in the puddle on the floor. The feral sneered down at the crying man, tempted to lay his big boot into him.

“You’re a fucking disgrace.” He spat, stalking out of the room and into the hallway, door slammed shut behind him. Outside, his security crew waited, a couple looking up at his reappearance.

“All done, Boss?”

Creed snarled loudly and the men all reacted in different ways. One closed his eyes and cringed, one didn’t react outwardly at all and the third literally jumped backwards, regretting saying anything to start with. He stank of fear, sour and sweaty.

Victor eyed him sideways for a moment, relishing the way he was nearly shaking in his boots. He turned to the others, completely disregarding the new recruit. Fuck, who had hired that one?

“Clean him up. I’m coming back later.”

“But, Sir…” The first man stammered, “Where are you-?”

One of the other men piped in and shushed him. “None of your business, Kid. Don’t ask annoying questions and you might last longer than a week.”

Victor stalked down the hall and punched the button on the wall, leaving the security bay. He had to talk to Anna.

 

 


	32. 32.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... *clears throat* 
> 
> .. don't hate me?

Anna was asleep on the sofa when Victor returned to the apartment and he found Carson sitting in a chair between the door and her, arms folded protectively across his chest, face impassive. He glanced back at her, making sure she was still sleeping and then rose to meet his boss halfway.

He noted the blood on his cheek and underneath his nails, the wet splatter of something on his thigh and a dark blonde brow rose in question. “Sir?”

Victor scowled, turning on his heel and heading for the bedroom-slash-bathroom on silent feet. “Give me a minute.” He told the younger man.

Once he was in the bathroom he bent over the sink, forehead against the mirror and he scrubbed at his hands and face until they were clean, no trace of blood left behind. He stepped out of his boots and trousers before finding another pair of pants to put on and changed his shirt, walking back out into the living area where Carson was waiting and Anna was still sleeping.

Fucks sake… He really didn’t want to wake her.

“Frail,” he nudged her as he sat opposite the sofa, long fingers shaking her awake. “Frail, wake up.”

She hummed into the cushions and slowly opened her eyes, bleary green sharpening as she woke up properly. She sat up, pushing herself upright and looked around for Carson. He gave her a wave and she relaxed back into the cushions again. “Hi,” she wiped at her eyes and yawned.

Victor watched her until she was completely awake, silent.

It took her a moment but she finally noticed the awkward silence in the room and looked from one man to the other. “What?”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Darrell?” Straight to business.

She gaped for a moment. “I,” she thought about it. “No. No, I don’t.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody.” She confirmed.

He ran a clawed hand over his head and huffed. Fuck. “Frail,” he began, hesitating. “Frail..”

She grabbed for his free hand and stroked it with steady fingers, her thumb brushing the place where Thomas had stabbed him with his spine and poisoned him. Christ, that was unpleasant.

“What is it?”

He looked at her, face devoid of emotion. “When is the last time you spoke to Thomas?”

She startled visibly. “Wh-what?” She studied his face for some time and the longer she looked at him the more uneasy she felt. She grabbed for him, rifling through his pockets until she found his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Thomas..” she listened to the ring-ring-ring of the phone and her heart hammered in her chest. She felt sick. Why wasn’t he answering? He always answered. She looked at Victor and caught the look of concern on his face and her bottom lip started to wobble. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He sighed. “Anna…”

She shook her head. “No.” she disconnected the call and immediately dialed Michael’s number. He was still on leave. He would answer. “No.”

It took three rings.

_“Hello?”_

She could hear a hitch in his voice, a sure fire sign that something was wrong. “Michael?”

_“Jesus, Anna-Belle…”_ He sounded worn and like he was about to cry, _“God, where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you for almost two days now.”_

She looked at Victor, eyes starting to glass up at the sound of her big brother so upset. “What’s wrong?”

Carson slotted into the space beside her and took her free hand and Victor crouched in front of her, hands on her bouncing knees.

_“Anna-Belle, sweetheart..”_ His voice caught. _“Sweetheart, it’s Tommy..”_

Her stomach twisted and she swallowed thickly. “What about him? Why didn’t he answer his phone?” The answering silence on the other end of the line made her feel sick. She could just picture Michael working his jaw and opening his mouth to speak but nothing was coming out. “Michael, what about him?!”

He coughed, sniffing. _“He’s gone, Anna-belle…”_

“Gone where?” She managed, wide eyes looking at Victor, hands shaking as she clutched at Carson. No. No, no, no.

Michael sounded winded _. “Anna…”_ he hiccupped. _“Anna, you know what I mean.”_

A sob burst forward and she whined, eyes wet and she wanted to curl up and die. “What hap- _how_?”

He was crying outright now. _“Sweetheart, I don’t think-”_

“TELL ME!” She was crying now too, her throat burning with the effort it took to stop sobbing. Her big brother, her best friend and her goddamned hero… Gone. Victor’s hands smoothed up her thighs and settled around her waist, lifting her into his lap and Carson remained where he was, quiet and visibly shaken.

A deep breath on the other end of the line. _“He was murdered. Drowned.”_

She sat in stunned silence, her head tucked underneath Victor’s chin, phone clutched to her ear. “H-he what?” So many things raced through her head, visions of him face down in a bathtub full of water, mouth blue and eyes blown.. Oh dear god. What a fucking horrible way to go. “But he was aquatic!”

_“Someone knew him well enough to know how to kill him,”_ He took a breath, _“You’re sure you want to know?”_

She nodded, mute with horror. Her big brother had been dead for two days… “Please…”

_“They punctured his lungs with something sharp, stabbed him in the gills and they found plastic stuffed down his throat. He couldn’t breathe and he inhaled too much water, he couldn’t breathe, Anna. God… He couldn’t..”_ He was sobbing now, a complete mess and she fell apart, curling in on herself, eyes squeezed shut. Victor wrestled the phone out of her hand and lifted it to his ear, talked to Michael for a short minute and hung up only after promising to keep her safe, to take care of her.

“Frail-”

“You knew.” She interrupted. “How did you know?!”

He was quiet. “The guy following you. He implied he knew something.” His big hands were stroking her hair and she weakly struggled away.

“I’ll kill him… Take me to him. Now. I’ll fucking kill him!”

Carson quietly moved to grab her a glass of water and Victor grabbed for her arm as she made for the door. He dragged her back until she bounced off his chest and he wrapped long arms around her as she struggled.

“Frail,” he hauled her off her feet and up against him. “Anna, you don’t want to kill him. I know you want to, but you don’t _want_ to. You don’t need blood on your hands like that.” He shook her a little, made her look at him. “You don’t. It doesn’t go away, Anna. Ever.”

“He took my brother! He took him away…” her anger tapered off into sobs again and she sagged in his arms, head hung low. She hugged his arms and hung from his sturdy grip, face turned into his upper arm. “He took him…”

He dotted a kiss to the top of her head and closed his eyes. He’d genuinely liked the kid. “I know, Frail, I know.”

Fuck.


	33. 33.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long!!! I'm still here!

It was frighteningly cold and quiet on the back steps of her childhood home, none of the warmth she had come to associate with the house left for her to hold on to. A cigarette was pinched between her fingers and she stared blindly at the red glow, her mind slow and sluggish from the drink she’d downed all afternoon.

The funeral had been hard enough, but the wake… God, the wake.

Nobody had come. No bastard had loved her brother enough to see him off into the next life and she was furiously mad about it.

Michael had been a wreck when Victor had flown her back to Kansas City himself, her older brother unable to function properly nor was he able to plan his little brother’s funeral.

Anna had done it all; from the flowers to the song played as he’d been interred into the ground next to their parents, she’d planned it all so carefully and she’d been left numb.

She could still remember his last words to her when she had left for parts unknown with Victor.

I love you. I’ll miss your face.

I love you.

He had loved her and she him. So, so much. He’d loved her enough to send her away with a virtual stranger to keep her safe and where did that get him in the long run? Dead. It got him dead.

It was all her fault.

“S’all my fault.”

A crunch in the snow behind her made her look up and she could see Victor looming in the dark, eyes slits of amber gold, face stoic. His hands were buried in his pockets and he started toward her. He’d been watching her all day, hell, all week for signs of breakdown and by god had he been witness to some doozies.

“It’s not.”

She snorted and lifted the bottle of whiskey to her lips, “And how could you possibly know that, Creed?” She slugged back a good mouthful of the liquid and winced without even a cough. She’d been drinking far too long for that.

He didn’t answer right away and she thought she had her answer. He didn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I’ve been on the other end, Frail.” He admitted after a moment, right in front of her. “It’s never anyone elses fault ‘sides the one who’s done the killing.”

Her stomach turned. “You’ve killed a man.”

He shrugged, glossing over the skeletons in his closet. “Been to war, Frail. Course I have.” He crouched and draped his long fingers over numb knees. God, she should have been cold but she couldn’t feel anything. “It’s not your fault.”

Her voice gave a wobble. “I hate this,” she sniffed violently, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. “Why him, Victor? Why my big brother?”

Victor eyed her, hundreds of years of horrors running through his head. He knew why him, hell, he knew what he would have done and that was exactly what Brian had done. He’d taken the thing most precious to her and destroyed it.

Destroyed her.

The cretin was systematically deconstructing her bit by bit and leaving her vulnerable.

“Because he wants to hurt you,” he murmured, “-to scare you.”

She snorted, eyes rolling, smoke creeping from her nostrils. “Well, he’s doing a bang up job of it.” Her fingers flicked the ashy end of her cigarette into the snow and she wiped at her eyes with her thumbs. “I want him back, Victor.”

Amber eyes flickered from hands to face and he made a sound in the back of his throat. “It doesn’t get easier,” he told her candidly, “-living without your brother.” He took a breath. “But you do get used to it..”

Anna looked at him through squinted eyes. “You never mentioned a brother.” She flicked the ashy end of her smoke behind her, mouth in a firm, straight line.

He shrugged and didn’t look at her directly, merely stared over her shoulder. “Well it’s hard to admit that your own actions made your only living relative leave in the dead of night without so much as a goodbye.”

She sniffed and tossed the cigarette butt into the snow, the glowing end dying out in the freezing slush. “Wh- what was his name?” her lip was wobbling slightly and she rubbed her fingers together to warm them, buried them deep in his pockets and snuggled into the furnace-like warmth that was his body. A distraction is what she needed and this could be just that. A good distraction.

He was quiet, eerily so for some time. His voice was rough when he spoke finally, fingers flexing against her back. “James.”

She looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Was he like you?” At his cocked eyebrow, “- was he a mutant too?”

“Yes.”

Anna nodded, sensing his discomfort and snuggled into him instead. She felt him take a breath to speak no less than three times before he finally said anything.

“He was there…. In front of the firing squad with me. Tried to stop me and ended up getting’ shot at for his troubles.”

She peered up at him and all she could see was the stubbled curve of his jaw from the underside. Jesus, you could cut glass with that thing.

“Did he..?”

“He woke up before I did. Took a cannon ball to the gut once and just got back up.”

She blinked, surprised. Well, she didn’t expect that at all. “He took a cannon ball to the gut.” She mumbled plainly.

Victor smirked. “Little shit was always gettin’ into trouble,” he murmured, “-and pulling me out of it.”

“What happened?”

He swallowed and she could feel his heart beat stutter. “I,” he cleared his throat. “I was not – am not –a nice man, Frail. He ended up leaving me in the jungle in Africa ‘cause I was gettin’ too carried away with terrorizing the locals.”

Anna shivered, suddenly realizing just how cold she had become thanks to the radiant heat leeching into her from his body. She clutched at him, rubbed her face against his pectoral and sighed. For such a ‘bad man’ he sure gave good hugs.

He smirked when she told him so.

“Had a baby brother who was sick all the time, Frail. Course I know how to hug.”

“He was sickly?”

He nodded. “Especially when his mutation manifested. Had a constant fever, vomiting, you name it. Thought he was a goner.” He went quiet, apologetic. He was trying to distract her, not remind her of her dead sibling. “Was him who did the old man in.”

She hummed in approval. “Good.” Her voice was muffled against his chest. “Is he still alive?”

Victor frowned, brows drawn in tight and rubbed his rough cheek against her head, arms squeezing her tight. “I don’t know, Frail. I really don’t know.”

“Do you want to? Know, that is.”

He hummed, long fingers carding through her long, dark hair. “Sometimes.” He sighed and hauled her into his lap, now sitting in the snow. “He was all I had for a long time… Lost him around ‘Nam.”

She blinked into the darkness. “The Vietnam war??” She looked up, eyes glassy but dull, red rimmed and tired. “You haven’t seen him since then?”

He tucked his coat around her and nuzzled her neck like a cat would, the broad flat of his tongue tasting her pulse point beneath her ear. “Like I said, Frail… He left me. No idea where he is now.”

“You’re not a bad man, Victor.” She mumbled, cosying into his chest.

He snorted. “I wouldn’t bank on that, Frail. I really wouldn’t.” He held her until she fell asleep and carried her inside, tucking her into her tiny little bed in her tiny yellow bedroom. He sat in the corner until sun up and then once he was sure Michael was awake and about, he silently exited the room and the property.

He had questions and he was damn sure going to get answers.

 

 


	34. 34.

It was late afternoon before he managed to find anyone willing to speak to him, the entire town was bigoted against mutants and he was quite obviously one himself, what with the claws and the teeth and the sheer size of him.

He’d been asking around for the whole week now, in and around the mutant population and only now, now that Thomas was in the ground were people willing to speak.

He loomed in the shadows down towards the back of the house, a small off white number that looked unassuming in its ordinariness. It was almost overgrown out the back with weeds and trees and that was where he stood, shielded from the view of the street. He flicked the ash of his cigarette off into the shrubbery and pinched out the glowing end, stuffing the butt into his pocket as not to leave a trace of him ever being there.

Brian’s mother was a creature of habit, he had discovered. She would rise early, go to the store, buy her daily newspaper, bread and milk and then after returning home she spent the day cleaning the same old places over and over. The kitchen island and floor, then the bathroom, then the living room. Fuck, he could smell the bleach from where he stood. It was a sharp, artificial lemon scent that burned his nose.

He approached the screen door from the rear of the house and he could hear her inside. She was watching one of those evangelist broadcasts and praising Jesus in all the appropriate places, praying aloud in others. She was muttering a psalm to herself when he let himself in and the house fell silent. He wasn’t trying to be quiet; he wanted her to know he was there, wanted her scared.

A sour hint tickled his nose and he grinned a toothy, feral smile. “Oh, don’t stop on my account, Miriam.” She was afraid.

There was a beat of silence and a surprisingly strong, unwavering voice called out. “Who’s there?” She demanded to know.

Victor moved out of sight and lingered in the lemony fresh scented kitchen. He touched things all over, flipped through her stack of mail boredly and easily evaded her as she tried to find the intruder in her home. He scoffed to himself. “It’s your lord and savior, Miriam.” He quipped, sarcasm bleeding into his voice.

He wasn’t her God; there _was_ no God.

He could hear her frown when she spoke again. “Of course you’re not Jesus… Who are you? What do you want?” No hint of a tremor in her voice, no hesitation.

He quirked a brow. Wow. This broad had little to no survival instincts at all. He could smell her fear, strong and sour but she wasn’t fleeing. She was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. He thumbed through a few letters, opened this time, and moseyed even further into the house. God, it smelled awful. So much bleach and ammonia and fuck, was that lavender potpourri? He poked at the dish and scowled. Yep. Definitely potpourri.

Gross.

“I’ve come to talk to you about your son’s extracurricular activities.” He made sure she never saw him, never even caught a glimpse. He moved things as he went, disturbing arrangements and moving ornaments.

The scent of her fear grew exponentially. Bitch. She knew. She knew what he was up to.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She snapped, a wobble in her voice now.

Victor sneered. He didn’t need to be near her to scent her lies… He could hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest from the other room. “It’s a _sin_ to lie, Miriam.” He cooed, voice gravelly low and honey sweet. He dragged his claws along the wall, powdery plaster flecks drifting towards the floor.

She made a sound in the back of her throat that he knew well. Fear. It was fear.

He smirked at the sound of her terror.  God he loved his life.

“I-I’m not lying!” She insisted. “I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing!”

Victor sighed and rolled his eyes. “Liar.” He swept around the corner just as she moved into the room. He could hear her coming and kept moving. “I know he was bailed to this address, Miriam.”

“He’s not here!”

Victor cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders and moved back towards the back door. “I know he’s not here, Miriam. I know he’s not here because he’s busy hiring contract killers to murder innocent people.”

She spluttered. “He had nothing to do with the Robinson boy’s murder!”

Victor paused and the trap snapped shut. “… who said anything about the Robinson boy, Miriam? Hmm?”

He could practically hear the cogs in her brain turning, could scent her horror.

He smiled to himself and reached into his pocket, fished out the little furry body he’d snavelled from one of the neighborhood cats and carefully arranged it on the coffee table by her bible before letting himself back out the rear door.

Game on, Cretin, he thought to himself. Game on.

 

**

 

He watched the older brother potter around the house and mope, his lip curling at the corner and ire rising.

“You need to pull yourself together.”

Michael looked up at him sharply, heart racing and fists clenched at his sides. He’d not heard him come in apparently.

“What the fuck does it matter to you, Creed?” He snarled, throwing himself onto the sofa and laying down.

Victor snarled right back and he delighted in the way that the Frail’s brother flinched. “You’re not the only one suffering,” he offered, voice rough and annoyed, “-yet you can’t seem to see through your own pain to notice you’re damaging The Frail.”

Michael was immediately on the defensive. “What the fuck, Creed?! How is my being upset damaging Anna, huh? I just lost my brother and-”

“See, that right there. _You’ve_ just lost _your_ brother.. What about Anna, Mikey? What about your baby sister who came back to some shitty little Podunk town that wasn’t safe for her to be in – as proven by your brother’s murder – and had to organize the entire funeral because you couldn’t bring yourself to do it on your own? Or was it left to her because you didn’t really even know your little brother? Didn’t know what made him tick, his quirks that made him the man he was… He _died_ protecting her and you can’t even pull your head out of your ass for long enough to see what _your_ fucking grief is doing to her.”

There was a pregnant pause, the air thick with tension and the sound of harried breathing.

Michael swallowed, his glare heavy and dark. “You have no right-”

“Oh, I beg to differ, Michael. I have every damn right.” He took a lumbering step closer and longed for the days where stupid was outweighed by sensibility. Idiot stood his ground. “She, whilst not a possession, is mine to worry about. You’re upsetting what’s mine and I don’t think you understand just what that means.”

Michael was shaking with fury when he spoke again. “She’s _my_ sister and as of now, I don’t want you in this house anymore.” He was quiet and there was a tremor in his voice. Good. He’d hit the right buttons. “I want you out. Now.”

Victor sneered at him and loomed over the stocky soldier. He opened his mouth to speak when Anna’s voice came from behind him. He stopped still, head cocked.

“That’s fine Michael; we were just leaving.”

 

 

 

 


	35. 35.

Michael gaped at his younger sibling, the only one he had left and opened and closed his mouth a few times. “You’re _what_ now??”

She glared right back. “You heard me, you insufferable ass.” She came to stand by Victor’s side and slipped her hand into his massive paw. Her nails bit into the roughened skin of his palm and she took a moment to steady herself. “I thought that maybe coming back here was a good idea,” she wobbled slightly, “-that maybe you would be different now that Thomas was…” she swallowed thickly, blinking away tears. “But I can see now that you’re no different than you’ve ever been. You were a coward before and you’re even more of one now.”

He stared at her, face blank. “If that’s how you feel then I can’t change your mind, can I.”

She scowled, an ugly out of place look on her face. “If you’d been here with him instead of hiding in the local bar…” She made no illusions of hiding her feelings. She blamed him for Thomas’ death. “You were supposed to protect him!”

“He didn’t need me to-”

“OBVIOUSLY HE DID!” She roared, hands clenched tightly into balled up fists and her whole body shaking. She was borderline about to lose her shit and Michael’s insistence that Thomas hadn’t needed him was making her see red. She didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or cry or beat him in his fat head with a damned bottle. Her voice was small and shaky when she spoke again. “You should have been there.” Tears spilled down pale cheeks and she flinched when he moved toward her, hands outstretched. “ _Don’t_ touch me.”

He looked at her, pained. “Anna-belle..”

She shook her head. “And don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore!” She rubbed at her pink nose and sniffed loudly. She looked up at Victor through wet, dark lashes. “I’d like to leave now.”

He inhaled through his teeth and tasted the air.

Pain. Sadness. Fear. Loathing.

Each and every one of them was leeching from The Frail and he desperately wanted to reach out and slash a bloody line across her idiot brother’s throat, watch him bleed out, but he didn’t. He nodded and set his hand on the small of her back and nudged her towards the door. Her bags were already set out and waiting.

“Anna…” Michael tried again. His face crumpled when she ignored him and opened the front door. “Anna, please.”

She picked up the smaller of the two bags and slung it over her shoulder, wheeling the other along behind her. Victor watched her go and get in the hire car and snarled at him when he tried to follow.

“She’ll talk to you when she’s good and fucking ready.”

Michael scowled up at him. “I suppose this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it. To take her away from us.”

Victor rolled his eyes and started out the door. “You pushed her away all on your own.”

 

**

Anna watched Victor lumber towards the car for a moment before she looked at her fingers in her lap. She couldn’t believe she’d been such a fool; thinking Michael would be any different now that he’d ever been was a mistake. When their father had gotten ill he’d taken off with his tail between his legs and he’d been deployed when the shit had hit the fan with Brian. Sure he’d come home on sympathetic leave when the news had broken (both about their father’s death and her kidnapping) but he’d always been that little bit removed from them, thought he was above them. Now that Thomas was gone though and fuck that hurt to think, Michael was playing the grief stricken big brother card and she was left hovering in the background like a muppet.

Anna’s strong, people would and had said, she’ll be alright. Well, she thought, guess who wasn’t alright. She needed her brother more than ever and he was being a selfish jackass.

The car rocked as Victor folded himself inside and she sighed, not looking at him. “It’s always been ‘me, me, me’ with him.” She looked at him, eyes wet and shiny green. “Are we going back…?” She left the destination unsaid, instead picking at the frayed seam of her jeans over her knee.

He huffed, starting the car and throwing it in reverse. “We’ll go wherever you want, Frail. Wherever you want.” His big hands dwarfed the steering wheel as he maneuvered along the street, her childhood home left behind them.

She shot him a tired, wan smile. “Thank you.”

**

Carson was waiting for them in the dimly lit parking garage when they arrived back at the Casino, work uniform hanging open and a bottle of water in his hand. He looked up as they pulled into the garage and shot them a bright smile as he climbed to his feet that made Anna tear up. God, he was like Thomas. Visually he was the polar opposite, short where her brother had been tall and light where he’d been dark, but trait-wise, personality wise, he was a young Thomas all over.

He was kind, polite and scary observant. He clocked her mood the minute she climbed from the car and folded her up into a huge hug that had her sniffling into his neck. He rubbed her back between the shoulder blades and squeezed her tight.

“Alright, Miss?”

She wiped her nose delicately, smiling humourlessly. “Not really, Carson.” She shook her head, following him into the service elevator and leaning back against the mirrors as Victor loped in after her. She bumped the small blonde’s shoulder with her own. “You look well.”

He shrugged. “Amazing what a week off does for the body, Miss.”

She shot Victor a look of surprise. She’d been unaware of any plans to give Carson time off work but she was glad he’d done so. The kid had been burning the candle at both ends. Sooner or later he was going to combust. The bigger man shrugged and ushered her towards their apartment.

Once they were settled back in, Carson left them and as soon as the door clicked shut behind him Anna burst into tears.

Victor eyed her, startled.

“Did I do the right thing?” She wondered aloud as she paced. “Leaving Michael?”

Victor huffed, pulling the tails of his woolen duster coat out from underneath him as he sat. “Your brother is an asshole,” he muttered, “-and being one myself, I know exactly what to look for.” He watched her for a short time and held up a long clawed finger as she moved to start unpacking. “I wouldn’t.”

Anna paused. “What, don’t unpack?” A slow nod made her stop completely. “Why not?”

“If he found you once before, he’ll find you here again, Frail.” He studied her as her pale face flushed with anger and she clenched her dainty fists at her hips. “I want you to go to another safe house,” he added after a moment, “-another of my properties. Out of town. Carson is going with you.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “Y-you’re not coming with us?”

He shook his head, shuffling onto the edge of the seat and beckoning her closer with a crooked finger. “I have some shit I need to do,” he explained as she stepped between his spread knees and her hands buried into the short crop of his hair, nails scraping the scruff of his five day old beard. She scratched at his neck and face absently as he palmed the back of her thighs. “You’ll be in good company,” he assured her, dragging her closer until there was no space between them.

His hand squeezed her thigh, just beneath her butt-cheek and his nails dug into the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Where am I going?” she asked in a small voice.

Victor manhandled her into his lap and tugged on a fistful of long, black hair. “You’ll see when you get there.” He promised.

 

 


	36. 36.

“Holy mother of fucking Christ on a cracker!”

Anna threw her head back and laughed. She laughed like she hadn’t in weeks and held onto her sides until they hurt. “Oh God,” she snorted, hand over her mouth as she took a long step backward, “-Jesus, Carson!” She took in the look of horror on his young face. “It’s just a Bison!”

He shook his head and pointed at the massive beast, breath puffing out of his mouth in a fog. “You mean that’s **_not_** a cow?!”

She took a deep breath and calmed herself, her hand stroking the small of his back to comfort him. “Honey, those are Bison. It’s kind of like a cow, but it’s really not one.”

The pair looked at the sleepy herd of animals held back by the thick wooden fencing, arms looped around each other and the early morning light breaking over the ridge above them. It was so quiet, peaceful in the pale light that they almost forgot why they were there. Reality came crashing back down when Carson gave her a gentle tug towards the cover of the house.

“C’mon, Miss. Inside and away from prying eyes.”

She scoffed but took his hand and followed him inside the sprawling ranch. “Carson, if there were any eyes capable of prying around here that weren’t cattle..” she trailed off as she took in the inside of the home for the first time.

Victor had left town mere days before they did, moving on ahead of them to make sure things were up to par at the property before he left for parts unknown. They’d gotten the call the night before with the all clear and were moving within a matter of hours.

It was a beautiful property; hell, most of Montana was stunning but she was almost positive that Victor had bought the most perfect piece of land available. There were dips and valleys, perfect glittering creeks and herds of livestock dotted the landscape as they’d flown overhead. It was a massive, sprawling, beautiful piece of scenery that she teared up at the sight of. She was shocked into awed silence.

Carson had been whale eyed with his face pressed to the glass for the whole trip; it was his first time out of Vegas, after all.

The house was a ranch style home with an open plan living and dining area that screamed top of the line, a kitchen that boasted a bright red range that was quite possible as old as she was and lovingly restored and a matching red fridge that sat pride of place in the corner. There was a large oak butchers block and matching island, oiled and ready for use and a fully stocked pantry.

Carson was practically vibrating at the sight of the kitchen.

Anna looked from him to the pantry then back at him. “Do you cook?”

He squeaked out a yes, nodding desperately. “I love being in the kitchen.” He confided.

She smiled warmly at him. “Well, I’m terrible at it. So I guess that means you’re up.”

He bounced on his toes and carefully tugged her across the open space towards the kitchen. His fingers ran reverently across the range and he shot her a shy smile.

“We can look around first, then I’ll cook us something.”

Anna smiled tightly at him, her mind a whirlwind of memories. Thomas always did the cooking and he was good at it too. He’d wanted to be a chef when he was young; pre-mutation, that is. His love for food had never waned either.

Ever observant, Carson touched her elbow. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” damn it, her voice cracked. “No, sweetie, you didn’t. You just remind me of someone.”

He nodded slowly. “Of course,” he murmured. “My apologies, Miss.”

She wiped at glassy eyes and smiled at him. “How about we take a look around, huh?” She hugged his arm as they moved into the short hallway that lead to the bedrooms. “Don’t you ever feel guilty about being like my brother. Ever. He was a good man.”

He smiled at her, small but cautious. “Yes, Miss.”

 

**

Anna stood beside Carson and cocked an eyebrow at the charred remains of what was meant to be their lunch, her teeth biting her lip to stop from laughing at the look of sheer confusion on the man’s face.

“Apparently,” he began, “-cooking on a range is a little different to cooking on a conventional stove.”

She let out a giggle-snort and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh honey, I’m sorry…” She laughed a little more. “Is there anything else we can have?”

He snorted and waved absently at the full to burst pantry. “Course there is… I just don’t – where did I go wrong?”

“Who taught you how to cook and was it on a range?”

He got a strange look on his face and finally shook his head. “A social worker helped me learn and no, it was a conventional oven-slash-cooker.” He looked at her nervously. “Is it different? The range, I mean?”

Anna nodded. “Yeah, honey, it is.” She rubbed his shoulder and leaned in to his side briefly. “Don’t worry; you’ll get it. Try, try again and all that shit.”

He nodded, eyes gleaming with determination. “Yes, Miss.” He reached into the store cupboard and produced the first thing he touched. “May I interest you in some… _Ramen_?” he pulled a face. “Ugh. Who’d have thought that Mr. Creed would stock this crap. Grilled cheese and instant tomato soup coming up!”

She laughed, a tinkling happy sound and he shot her a grin. “Sounds perfect, Carson. Sounds perfect.”

**

The night was silent save for the chirp-chirp-chirp of the crickets and the occasional huff of the herd.

Earlier in the day she had been introduced to the employees who tended to the bison on a daily basis; Carson had stood between herself and the three older men the whole time, not in front of her, but off to the side and a little ahead of her. He was seemingly relaxed the whole time but she could spot the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched and the cool tickle of his mutation touching her arm. It was a strange pressure, like she’d immersed herself in a cold gel like substance that held her close but she was still free to move as normal. It was like being in a pool but _heavier_.

The men had only stayed long enough to check over the fences, feed the Bison and then headed back to the trailers parked almost a mile away. One had hung back and handed her a cell phone and had given her a small nod, told her to holler if she needed anything and jumped back in the truck before he too left.

Carson had sagged as soon as they were out of sight.

Anna smiled to herself, tired. She puffed on her cigarette and sipped at her coffee quietly for a few minutes before the gentle but silent buzz against her thigh made her jump. The burner phone Victor had given her.

His voice washed over, whiskey rough and quiet.

_“You behaving yourself, Frail?”_

She blew out a lungful of smoke and sipped at her cooling coffee. “Don’t I always?” She mused, her cheeks dimpling with a secret smile in the dark.

He huffed out a dark little laugh. _“’course you do,”_ there was a slight pause _, “Are you naked?”_

Anna felt her cheeks flush warm and glanced back over her shoulder. She could see Carson inside bent over a laptop watching cooking shows. “You know I’m not, Victor.” She chastened. “I’m sitting outside in the dark, drinking.”

He hummed, the sound so low it went straight between her thighs. _“Pity,”_ he muttered. _“Put out the cigarette, Frail. Those things’ll kill you.”_

She frowned but did as he said. “.. you smoke.”

He tutted softly, tongue against the back of his teeth _. “Can’t die, Frail. Can’t die.”_ She could hear him move, the quiet brush of fabric on fabric and she felt a pang in her gut. God, she missed him already. She missed the way he lumbered into a room, the way he smelled of something sinful like blood and gunpowder and fuck, she even missed the way he’d shred her clothes in an effort to get her naked quicker.

He’d ruined most of her favourite sweaters and underwear; her jeans, those he enjoyed peeling off her so those were safe.

 _“You’re awfully quiet,”_ he mused aloud _, “-the kid treating you alright?”_ There was an unspoken undercurrent in his voice, a threatening lilt that made her want to bare her neck and bend over for him.

God, she was fucked up.

“Yeah,” she glanced back again. “He’s trying to learn how to use the range.”

Victor huffed. _“Figures he wouldn’t know how.”_ He muttered. _“Fucking city kids don’t know shit nowadays.”_

A flare of indignation lit her up and she set down her mug just that little bit too hard. “Victor Creed, you leave that boy alone! He’s done nothing but take care of me and do your bidding so leave. Him. Alone.”

There was a beat of silence. _“He’s not your brother, Anna.”_

She did what any angry, frustrated, lonely and depressed woman would do; she burst into tears. “Fuck you.” She whispered but she didn’t hang up the phone, merely sat with it in her lap whilst she sobbed.

He was right. Carson wasn’t Thomas. God, it hurt.

She scooped up the phone, sniffing quietly and brought it to her ear. Silence. “You’re right; he’s not my brother, but he’s mine. He’s nobody’s, Victor. He has no-one else to claim him so I will. I’m going to bed.” She wiped at her nose with her sleeve and her boots scraped against the wooden deck. “Goodnight.”

There was another beat of silence. _“There’s a sawn off shotgun under your bed; the kid has the key to the lock box. Unlock it before bed and try not to kill him off.”_

She blinked. “You’re not even sorry..” She frowned as she rose to her feet. “You’re not even sorry.”

He grunted. _“You needed to hear it.”_ There was a strange sound on the other end of the phone that she couldn’t place, almost a gurgling and he spoke again. _“Go to sleep, Frail.”_

She nodded into the dark and hung up the phone before she headed into the house, the inky black night left behind her.

 

 


	37. 37.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have some violence and other nasty stuff.. Just thought maybe i should warn you all! Enjoy!

He hung up the phone with a stabbing motion, tossed it aside and sighed.

Arms flailed wildly in the tub and he grunted at the water being splashed all over his coat. He peeled it off and threw it aside too, eyes glinting dangerously as he looked down into the bath tub at the gasping man. The strip light overhead flickered and clicked.

“I thought I told you to keep quiet, hmm?”

The man, the same one who Carson had sprung tailing them and he had extracted information from about dear old Brian, sobbed and coughed. His hair was matted to his head and he was soaking wet, the wound on the side of his head leeching rusty fluid and his hand a crumpled mess, held tight against his chest. He was openly crying and Victor sneered down at him.

For almost two weeks now he’d been playing a twisted game of tag with him; he’d rough him up a little, let him ‘escape’ and casually hunt him down and rough him up some more. Fuck it’d been fun. The squeak of terror when he’d caught up with him the last time had made his own toes curl. The time before that, when they’d left town for the funeral, the pitiful little cretin had tried to run, to leave town himself but he’d not been counting on Victor’s love of the chase.

He’d hunted him down and pounced on the little fucker like a lion on a gazelle, claws in his neck and all. The sour scent of fear had poured off him, especially when Victor had pinned him to the ground in that dirty back-alley, crushed his already maimed hand once more and licked the trickle of blood from his temple. It had been so. Fucking. Satisfying.

The part where Darrel had pissed himself yet again was less satisfying, especially once Victor had realised he’d wet through to the thick wool of his coat. The smell was awful and even the bloody tang on his tongue hadn’t been able to distract him from the scent.

He sucked at his teeth and picked at his claws. “The thing is, Darrel; you’ve outlived your usefulness.”

The smaller man shuddered and twitched, eyes bugging out of his head. “P-please…”

Victor snapped his fingers and the door creaked open, a small little scrap of a man entering the room and setting down a leather roll. He looked up at Victor with a genuinely bright smile and pat him on the arm. He looked like you’d imagine someone’s beloved grandfather would, small and cheerful, harmless enough.

“Now,” he flipped the roll open with a flourish and perused the contents. “We’ve only got one chance at this so you may want to hold him down.”

Creed cocked his head and took a step towards the bath tub and glanced back over his shoulder. “One chance?”

The little old man nodded, flicking at a small vial of cloudy fluid. “Oh, yes. The source of our poison has expired and it has proven rather difficult to replicate.”

He froze, nostrils flaring and eyes flitting back towards the elderly man. “Define expired.”

The man, The Chemist as he was known, smiled. “The mutant who we harvested the poison from is dead, Mr Creed. Whilst the poison is still highly potent it may not be as effective.” He shrugged. “Means it might take a little longer to kick in.”

 “You harvested it from him, didn’t you?” Victor said, voice low and accusing. “From Thomas.”

“Well yes,” he stammered, suddenly sheepish. “You told me you wanted something that rivaled a stone fish, something aquatic that caused paralysis and internal--”

“I didn’t think you’d harvest it from his fucking corpse!”

There was a squeak and a sob; Darrel wet himself and the water in the tub went cloudy with old blood.

The chemist cleared his throat. “Would you like me to..?”

Victor snarled and pointed at the shaking man in the tub. “Don’t move.”

“Please! Please don’t do this…” he tried again but to no avail. Victor merely pointed at him as the needle full of poison was injected into his jugular. “Please..”

The effect was almost instant.

He started to gurgle and convulse and his limbs went rigid. His breathing became labored and then shallow before tapering off almost completely. His head was still listing to the side. Blood dripped from his nose slowly at first and then a drip turned into a dribble and it plopped into the water with an audible drip-drip-drip.

Victor cocked his head and wondered if that’s how he’d looked. He remembered the sting and the nausea, the burn of the poison shutting everything down… It was an ugly way to go, but this cretin had hurt his Frail; he’d admitted to assisting in the murder of her beloved brother. There was no coming back from that.

“How long will it take?”

The chemist looked up at him and shrugged. “Never used it before, couldn’t say.”

Victor looked back at the tub and sneered, nudged him a little lower until his chin was almost under water and flipped on the faucet.

He ushered The Chemist out of the small bathroom and closed the door.

The little old man looked up at him with a look of admiration-slash-intimidation on his face. “You’re a special sort, Mr Creed. A special sort, indeed.”

Victor looked at him out of the corner of his eye and curled his lip. “Don’t push me, old man... Or you’ll be next.”

“What did he do to you, exactly?” At Victor’s cocked eyebrow he elaborated. “What did he do that was so bad that you’re doing this to him?”

His eyes took on a feral gleam and he snarled silently. “That’s between him and I; he knows what he’s done. Keep your fucking nose out of my business or you won’t get paid, old man.”

“Of course, Mr. Creed. Consider it forgotten.”

***

It was cold when Anna woke in the middle of the night, body shaking and covered in sweat. She tried to catch her breath but it only served to make things worse. She gasped for air and clutched at the bedding, eyes screwed shut and her other hand holding where her heart was trying to burst free from her chest. She fumbled for the phone that Victor had given her and shakily dialed the only number stored on it.

She was speaking even before he said a word. “You were dead… they sliced you open across the belly and you were dead.”

There was a shuffling sound and the sound of a door closing. _“Takes more than a gut wound to kill me off, Frail.”_

She sniffled and rubbed at her nose. “How would you know? How do you know that someone can’t kill you?”

He laughed softly. _“Because numerous people have tried.”_ He sounded a lot more serious when he spoke again. _“I’m old, Frail. I’m old and I’ve seen it all, done most of it too. When I say I can’t die, I mean I cannot die.”_

Her stomach rolled at the mere thought of him laying dead on the ground, innards hanging out and eyes glazed over. His voice brought her back and she realized with some numbness that she was hyperventilating.

_“In.”_ He barked, tone broaching no arguments. _“Out.”_

She followed his prompting and still struggled to breathe. She must have gotten worse, her tears loud enough for Carson to hear because her bedroom door slammed open and he was there, gun drawn in one hand, his right hand glowing an odd silver. He looked around the room briefly and saw her in the mess of bedding, tiny and shaking and he gently set down the gun, took the phone and shouldered it before rubbing her back lightly.

There was some mumbling then he hugged her to his side. “S’alright, Miss.” He reassured her. “You’re ok.”

It took some time, but eventually she sagged against him and tucked her head underneath his chin, eyes half lidded and tired. He handed her the phone and dotted a kiss to the top of her head.

_“Don’t you cry over me, Frail.”_ She blinked, eyes full of sand and sore. She felt so tired. _“I’ll come for you soon. Soon, Frail.”_

She hiccupped weakly. “You’d better.”

His answering laugh was soft and coarse at the same time. _“Oh, I will, Anna. Soon.”_

 


	38. 38.

As it turned out soon meant almost five weeks.

It took him five whole weeks and three whole days to show up in the darkness and she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or throw herself at him; so she did all three.

… After she had fired off two rounds with the sawn-off shotgun.

He dodged the first shot but grunted as the second made impact and pain blossomed across his side and he tumbled to his knees. It was then that Anna made contact and he rolled the rest of the way to the dirt and took her with him, elbows braced either side of her head and her smile – bright as the sun – beaming up at him.

He looked her over, dusty and dirty and fuck, she smelled like warm smoky firewood, the herd of Bison and something else, something bitter and coppery.

She smelled of blood.

He immediately rolled off her and sat up, ignoring Carson who was standing on the porch and tugged her into his lap. It was there and then that she realized she’d made contact with the sawn-off and immediately started fawning.

“Oh God, you’re hurt,” she bit her lip and tugged at his clothes. “I shot you!”

He ignored her, nose to her neck and hands roaming over her small, firm body. He closed his eyes and listened, heard her heartbeat thundering in her chest and smelled her fear. Something was wrong. She smelled strange and her heartbeat was all fluttery like a hummingbird.

“-ictor, stop ignoring me and listen! I fucking shot you!” She climbed out of his lap and tugged at his coat. “Come inside so I can take a look.”

He grunted and rose to his feet. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine. He was perturbed. Why the fuck did she smell injured when she wasn’t?

Regardless, he followed her onto the porch and inside, eyes on her ass the whole time. She’d filled out a little, her rear end heart shaped and curvy like it had been when he’d first laid eyes on her, her waist still tiny and the curve of her breasts full against the fabric of her shirt. Well, full compared to the size of his hands; he was sure any average guy would be pleased with her curves. Anger swelled in his gut at the thought of another man laying even a finger on her and he shook the cobwebs free, following her into the kitchen where she was pulling a first aid kit from the bottom of the pantry.

She was fussing with a pair of sterile tweezers and a set of scissors. “How fast do you heal?”

He scowled but sat down and shrugged out of his coat, handing it off to the kid. “Fast enough,” he grunted, fingers patting at the bloody mess of his side. Fuck, it was like ground beef under his shirt.

She bit her lip and nodded, steeling herself. “Take off your shirt,” she demanded. “So in theory once the pellets are out you’ll start to heal over?”

He cocked his head, shirt half way off. “No ‘in theory’ about it, Frail. As soon as the shrapnel is out I’m good.” There was a metallic ting as his body started to push some of the shotgun pellets out already, trying to heal. He cocked a brow. “See?”

She shuddered but waved at him, ordering the shirt off again and as soon as the bloody fabric hit the floor she almost threw up in her mouth. Yep, ground beef.

There was a white fleck protruding from his rib and he stretched out so the piece of bone slipped back into place.

Carson calmly got up, excused himself and left the room, closed the bathroom door and threw up.

Victor laughed.

Anna rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, didn’t bother with gloves and started digging out the shotgun blast from his side, the tink-tink-tink of the pellets in the bowl the only sound in the room aside from the crackle of the fire. He watched her through sharp, amber slits as she knelt and got her face right up close, dug around for a minute and the look of ‘aha! Success’ when she dug out another piece of deeply embedded shrapnel.

“Lean back a little?” she murmured, looking up briefly then back to her task. He did as he was told. “Thank you.”

Her hands were sure and steady, cheeks flushed and bottom lip dark pink by the end of it from chewing on it. She watched from her vantage point at his knees as the flesh re-knitted and healed leaving only the bloody mess behind to hint at his brush with the shotgun. Anna dropped her forehead against the bloody plane of his abdomen and sniffed.

“I missed you.” She admitted, her voice small and unsure.

He tugged on her hair and made her look up, guided her up into his lap and brushed her hair back from her sticky face. “You smell weird.” He blurted and it gave him pause. Why did he say that? Fuck, he was better than that, wasn’t he?

Anna blinked at him. “Um, thanks?”

He rolled his eyes and took her by the back of the neck, licked her face clean and ran his nose up the length of her throat. Heartbeat irregular, the sharp tang of coppery blood masking any previous scent. Her fingers, still bloody and tacky from the dried fluids clutched at his shoulders and she wriggled closer.

He inhaled deeply.

Blood. Fire. Smoke. Bison. Dirt… she’d not long eaten something meaty and had a glass of wine with it. He kissed her hard, teeth clinking against hers and her tongue in his mouth. Definitely a little drunk. Maybe that was it? Maybe it was the wine.

It had to be.

There was a sound out of the corner of the room and a moan of disgust. “Jesus, warn a guy first!”

Victor snorted against her face and palmed her ass through her jeans.  “Don’t like it, don’t watch.” He rumbled and dragged her closer. Anna gasped into his mouth and ran her fingers through his short hair, pulling at it.

Carson let out a whine and spun on his heel. “Ew! Leaving!”

She giggled against his face and bit him on the cheekbone. “Such a weirdo.” She laughed, tucking her hair back. She looked at him for a long moment. “I did you know.. Miss you.”

He grunted and ran large hands over her straight, shiny hair. The powdery scent of violets lingered on his hands. “Wanna hit the sack?”

Her eyes glimmered up at him and she chewed her lip. “God, yes.”


	39. 39.

Anna rolled into the warm spot he’d left behind as he climbed out of bed, dawn’s pale light just creeping over the horizon, the inside of the house still in darkness. She inhaled deeply and blinked up at him, her eyes half open.

“Where’re you going?”

Victor pat her on the ass as he headed towards the door. “Hungry,” he explained. “Getting shot takes it out of you.”

She turned a lovely shade of red and spluttered. “It was an accident!” He smirked at her and she threw a pillow at the back of his head, her mind finally awake enough to realize he was kidding. “You’re an asshole.”

He huffed something like a laugh. “So you’ve mentioned.” He leaned down and tugged the sheet free. “Get up.” He could hear her complaining as he moved down the hallway towards the kitchen, his footsteps silent and his large bulk filling the doorway. He looked around as he moved into the room, retrieved a slab of uncut bison steak from the refrigerator and some eggs and got to work.

His bloody shirt was still sitting on the floor where he’d left it the night before.

His sensitive hearing picked up her footsteps before he could see her and when she stepped into the kitchen wrapped in a blanket and loose fitting pyjamas there was a visible bite mark on her throat, just beneath the collar of her shirt.

“Look at you, all domestic-like.”

He sneered down at the top of the range where he was gently scaring a piece of meat. Kill it, shave it, scare it was his motto when it came to cooking meat but he knew that the blood made her squeamish so he left a significantly smaller piece of steak in the pan for her, cracked two eggs and gestured to the front porch.

“Shut up,” he muttered. “Get your ass outside. Take a blanket.”

She hummed happily and did as she was instructed, pulling a rug from the sofa and heading out onto the porch. She looked up at him, smile soft when he presented her with her plate of food and dropped into a crouch at her side, picking at his own food with clawed fingers. They ate in silence for a few minutes before the sun made its first full appearance over the hills.

“It doesn’t get old,” at his glance of confusion. “The view.”

He looked out over the hills, over to the stock yard and then back to her. She was looking at her plate and carefully cutting her steak when he replied. “S’pose it doesn’t.”

**

“What the hell was that?!”

He snarled at her and slammed the door behind him, chest heaving and eyes blazing. “What the hell was _that_?” He parroted and lumbered closer to her. The tiny scrap of a thing didn’t even budge as he loomed over her, claws extended. “I go lookin’ for you only to go outside and find you flashin’ your tits at the help and smiling at him like he was the second coming!” He spat. “Well guess what, Anna – there aint no God. Not ‘round here!”

She looked up at him, her face contorted in a mask of confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?” Her fingers were clenched into tight little balls at her sides and her head cocked on an angle so he could make out the ugly blackening bite mark on her throat. The bite mark that he had put there just last night. “I was telling Wyatt that-”

He sneered. “ _Wyatt_ , huh?”

She sneered right on back. “Yes! Wyatt. Now will you shut the fuck up and listen to me?!” Her face was flushed and hands flailing now, her anger making her scent sharp and bitter like day old blood and molasses. Fuck she was lovely when she was mad.

He still hadn’t figured out why she smelled so strange though.

“-was telling Wyatt that-”

He snarled low and dangerous. “Swear to God, Frail – you say his name one more time...”

She scoffed, rocking forward on her toes and looking up through the curtain of her hair at him. “Or what, Victor? You gonna hit me? Go on, I fucking dare you!” She huffed when he merely took a step back and curled his fists. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She spat, eyes alight.

He cocked his head at her and took a long, deliberate sniff. This woman in front of him, this fiery, savage woman was not his regular frail. Something was different. He took a step closer and she backed up slightly only to bump into the back of the sofa. She steeled herself and lifted her chin stubbornly.

“I was telling Wyatt that you were back.” Her voice trailed off and the bitter edge of her anger started to wane, the spicy ginger and sugar of her scent creeping back in. “He was asking why I was so happy today.” She took a step closer and fisted her hands in his shirt, the buttons digging into her palms and she pulled at the fabric lightly. “Been kinda depressed lately.”

He scowled over her head and looked out the window where the men outside were all gathered by the stock yard, Carson included. The blonde looked down immediately and turned away, waving a hand at the three other men and they too looked in the opposite direction.

She pulled at his shirt to get his attention. “Am I not allowed to speak to other men anymore?” At his silence she blinked and scoffed. “Are you fucking serious? You let me talk to Carson; hell, you sent me away with him!”

“Carson doesn’t want to fuck you.” He muttered, voice dark with fury and something sinister.

Anna sputtered. “He what?!? What the hell makes you think that he wants to…” she stuttered to a stop, “Why would he want to do that?”

Victor cocked his head at her and flexed his fingers, tugged on her hair and caught the moment her scent sweetened, her chin lifting so her throat was bared. He smirked and pushed her against the back of the sofa, pinning her in place with his hips. “You questioning my taste, Frail?” He hauled her up his front and held her aloft. Her hands immediately gripped at the neck of his shirt and her legs wound around his hips.

She blushed, her cheeks a pretty pink and pupils dilated. “He does _not._ ” She argued and he laughed, low and gravelly.

“Oh, Anna,” he cooed, “Sweet, innocent, naïve Anna…” All teasing left his voice and he brushed her ear with his stubbled cheek. “He wants you, alright. He wants to bend you over that rail out there and take you until you scream,” he laughed. “Or maybe he’d like to wine and dine you? Take you somewhere nice and show you off to all his buddies, romance you and buy you fucking flowers…”

He hummed against her cheek and squeezed her ass, clawed fingers scraping at her waist and slicing through the thin, flimsy fabric of her shirt. He scented the blood from the scrapes and she whimpered into his ear.

She gasped. “Victor..”

He pulled back a little, took her chin in his hand and eyed her. “You really don’t know, do you?” At her look of confusion, he tutted. “Wyatt wants to fuck you.” He said bluntly. “Can smell it on him.”

She squirmed against him, her face the picture of discomfort. “You’re serious?”

He nodded slowly, eyes a dark chocolate brown. “Yeah, Frail. He’s got it bad.”

Her head dropped to his chest and she groaned. “Fucks sake,” he heard her mumble, “-he’s been hitting on me this whole time and I didn’t even notice.”

Fury started to leech through him. He’d sent her there with Carson and the help had known she was off the table, so to speak. “Has he ever-”

She screwed her nose up and pulled a face. “Ew, no.” Her hand stroked his neck, soothing the beast. “Never been anything other than friendly,” her frown deepened. “Well, I thought he was just being friendly.” Her little shudder made his mouth twitch into the barest hint of a smirk.

“Never even been tempted, Frail? Come on, maybe aging cowboys do it for you?”

She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why would I want him when I have you? Seriously. Specimen.” Her thighs tightened around his waist and she shuffled closer.

“M’not always here, Frail.”

She looked up at him with a bright, sunny smile and lifted both hands, wriggled her fingers and told him that’s why she had hands.

His brain just about short circuited at the thought. She laughed in his ear, low and sultry and nipped at his throat. He hummed, lifting his chin so she could bite anywhere she wanted, her face nuzzling the twelve o’clock shadow he’d cultivated.

His hands brushed her hips where he knew she had scars; _his_ scars from _his_ hands. “ _Mine_ , Anna.”

She nodded against his throat and traced his bottom lip with her fingers, her mouth opening in a light breathy gasp when he sucked two of them into his mouth. Her eyes glinted up at him and she grinned wickedly. “ _Yours_.”

 


	40. 40.

It wasn’t until three hours later that she realised the curtains had been open when he’d spread her out on the table and eaten her out. Made her scream.

She sat up and thumped him in the shoulder, whacking him with the large, fluffy pillows on the bed.

“You pig!”

He chuckled, his whole chest rumbling from the purr he let out. He didn’t even pretend to be confused. “Took you long enough.” He laughed even harder as she landed a blow to his face, claws splitting the pillow and sending feathers flying through the air.

She glanced at the now closed curtains and squirmed. “You did that on purpose!” She accused, waving in the direction of the window.

He cocked a brow. “Did what?” He sat up and nuzzled her cheek, long fingers creeping up her ribs and across her breast to squeeze. “Did I spread you out like a fucking buffet on the kitchen table and eat your pretty little pussy until you wailed right where your little buddy could see?” He lapped at the raw patch of skin below her ear that his teeth had left, hands travelling lower until his knuckles dipped between the valley between her thighs and rubbed just so. “Did I cover you in bites and bruises just for the fun of it, or did I do it to prove a point?”

She whined against his shoulder and her hips rolled, legs spread so he could fit himself between them if he so chose to do so. He dragged her thigh up over his hip and grazed a thick, slick knuckle over her opening.

“Tell me, Frail,” he rumbled. “Did I need to prove a point?”

She shook her head wildly, hair a mess and teeth hugging her lip. “N-no..”

He hummed quietly, breathing in her ear and scraping the sensitive flesh there with his teeth. “Oh but I think I did.” He reasoned. “You belong to me, Anna. You and _this_..?” he sunk his knuckle inside of her, stretching her open, “- _this_ belongs to me.”

She nodded slowly, looking up at him with her breath hitching out of her, completely wrecked. She rolled her hips, trying to get him further inside only for him to pull his hand away. She could have cried.

He swiped his thumb across her lip and offered her his slick covered hand, his quiet praise making her squirm in delight as she lapped at his fingers. Her breath caught, hands flying to his shoulders as he manhandled her into his lap and spread her legs, brushed the hot, hard head of his cock against her and dragged her down onto him.

God, little to no prep and the sheer size of him made her breath catch and she let out a sob as he thrust shallowly into her, holding her aloft.

“Please,” she whimpered and readied herself, held onto his shoulders. “ _So close_ …”

“You gonna come all over me, Frail?” He mumbled into her ear, filthy, sweet nothings thrown in for good measure. “Or should I push that pretty face into the bed and fuck you good and proper from behind until you beg me to stop?”

She moaned wantonly at the thought. “God, yes! Yes, _that_!”

He huffed out a dark laugh and lifted her off him, pushed her back on the bed. She was sweaty and sore already, wet and stretched and fuck she was pretty.

She couldn’t get onto her hands and knees quick enough, falling forward with a cry as he sunk into her from behind and slammed home. His thick thighs forced her legs open wider and her head lower. He set a hand in the middle of her shoulder blades and held her down by the back of her neck.

Fingers flexed on the back of her neck and he bent over her, mouth at her ear from behind. “Scream for me…”

**

Anna sat up, dragging the sheet with her as she hurried out of the bed. “What’s going on?”

Carson was in the doorway, gun drawn. “Miss, you need to get dressed and come with me.” There was an urgency in his voice that she’d never heard before and something cold swept down her spine. He was never so clipped with her, always explained what he was doing and why.

“Where’s Victor?” She demanded, dropping the sheet and pulling on her jeans, stuffing her feet into her boots. She shrugged into a flannel, buttoning it as she followed her guardian down the hall. There was a crash outside and something exploded, rocking the house and she stumbled to her knees. It took precious seconds for her to scramble to her feet but in that time, the front door had opened and she could hear the herd outside screaming.  “Carson, what is going on?!”

He didn’t bother glancing back at her, merely shouldered the shotgun in his hand and grabbed for her. “There was a fire reported at the north end of the property and Victor went to see what was going on,” he swore quietly, hands reaching for her again as the house shook. “Miss!”

Windows smashed and she could see something almost liquid pouring in through the shattered panes and with the slick of it came the flames.

Fuck she hated fire.

“Carson!” The lights overhead started to spark and flicker and they were suddenly pitched into darkness.

“Miss Anna!” He called, eyes not adjusting quickly enough to the darkness to see the figure coming towards him. Smoke was clouding the air and she hit the floor, crawling towards the open doorway. She heard him call for her again and was about to reply when she heard the blast of shotgun fire and a grunt.

“Carson?!?”

Hands grabbed her from behind and she sagged with relief. “Carson we need to get out of..” her eyes caught a hint of something pale in the darkness and she squinted, eyes widening at the familiar shock of hair laying in the hallway.

Carson.

Whoever was holding onto her was not her little brother because he was lying in a bloody heap in the hallway of her safe place whilst it burned to the ground. An agonized scream bubbled up from her belly and she kicked out at the person behind her, thick arms winding around her waist and hauling her out into the cool night air. She scratched and kicked, screamed and thrashed and before long her boot must have landed a solid kick because she fell to the dirt outside and was almost trampled by a stampeding bison. She scrambled along the dirt, crab walking until she could make it upright and soon enough she was running for her life.

There was a crack of gunfire and for a moment she thought whoever was shooting at her had missed, then the burning started to blossom up her thigh and she stumbled.

“No, no, no, no!” She cursed as she fell to the ground and the roar of fire and sounds of hooves in the dirt nearby filled her ears. She could hear them fretting and panicking, running for their lives and here she was laying in the dirt and staring at the stars, blood oozing from a wound on her thigh and nobody else to be seen. She blinked up at the stars for a moment, the ground spinning around her and then the world went dark.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	41. 41.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for you guys - and a huge thank you to all my new (and original) readers who've left kudos and bookmarked this recently!

“-thought I told you to bring her in, not shoot her!!”

“She was about to get away!”

Anna lay quietly on the floor and kept her eyes closed, her fingers curled loosely and hair over her face. For all intents and purposes she appeared to be unconscious but she really, really was not. She was literally frozen in horror.

She knew that voice. She knew both voices and she knew them well.

One was Wyatt, the one arguing she was about to escape and the other, the one who sounded so mortified and angry was her worst possible nightmare.

Brian.

Tears started to well in her closed eyes and she forced herself to lay still, to fake oblivion for just that little bit longer. How the hell had this happened and where the fuck was her wayward lover??

God, he was going to be so angry and when he found Carson... Fuck, Carson…

A sob forced its way out of her and she coughed from the force of it. The room fell silent and she cringed inwardly. Hands touched her brow and someone cooed at her, someone who she’d never ever wanted to lay eyes on again. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes and cringed at the pounding in her head. She tried to take stock of her surroundings, not that it would help any.

There was a flickering strip light overhead and she was on a concrete floor that had some strange, suspicious stains on it and Jesus, was that a drain in the corner of the floor?

There was one door and there were no windows.

The walls were old and crumbling in places and Wyatt stood in the far corner, his eyes dead and lacking any of the warmth that she’d come to expect from him.

Brian was bent over her, fingers combing her hair back from her face and touching her brow. He looked almost identical to the last time she saw him, his expression soft and adoring.

“My Anna..”

She threw up in her mouth.

**

They were going around in circles.

“Mr. Creed,” the older fire marshal tried to reason, “Are you telling me that you know who did this?”

He growled and relished in the fact that three of the four men standing in front of him backed up.

“You mean do I know who burnt down my fucking ranch and killed the majority of my herd?” He looked over his shoulder as the ambulance loaded up the bloody and burnt body of his employee, the kid hooked up to lines and cables, heart monitor beeping weakly. He could hear his breath rattling in his chest, could hear the struggling thump-thump of his heart beat and fuck, the blood… He was wounded, almost mortally and he was covered in nasty burns that he’d suffered in the minutes between passing out and Victor finding him.

He was clinging to life.

Creed turned back to the fire marshal and glared, teeth bared and claws extended. “Your brother tried to kill my nephew!” He roared.

The marshal spluttered and looked over his shoulder at the ambulance. “First of all, Wyatt would never shoot a person and secondly, since when do you have a nephew??”

Victor scowled. “My brother slept around.” He barked, lying smoothly. “And if Wyatt had nothing to do with this fucking mess then where. Is. He. Now?” He waved at the quiet group of cowboys standing by the remaining bison, their trucks nearby with the doors still flung open and fire extinguishers at their collective feet. He took a menacing step closer and bent to murmur. “Where is your darling brother, Pauley?”

The marshal, Paul, stuttered and then fell silent. Victor could see the moment he started to come around to the facts.

There was a homestead, burnt to the ground and a herd missing over half it’s numbers, a seriously if not critically wounded kid and a severely pissed off larger than life mutant who was more than capable of hunting down anyone who wronged him and would do so in a heartbeat.

“Find him, Pauley,” Victor rumbled as he turned and headed for the ambulance barefoot and in nothing but a singed pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. “- _or I will_.” The doors swung shut behind him and it started off into the night and Paul swore.

“What the fuck have you done, Wyatt? What the _fuck_ have you _done_?”

 

 


	42. 42.

Brian looked exactly how she remembered him; a little on the short side with dirty blonde hair, slightly overweight but nowhere near portly and he was still looking at her like she was a goddess come to life.

She felt sick when she realised she wasn’t wearing her jeans anymore and her leg had been bandaged from knee to mid thigh, her shirt covering her underwear and not much else. Fuck, she hadn’t even put a bra on when she’d gotten dressed because of Carson’s insistence that she’d needed to hurry.

Nausea welled up in her gut again when she thought of Carson, her adopted little stray lying in the dark hallway oozing blood from a gut wound, dying all on his own. Fuck, it was Thomas all over again. Her eyes grew wet and she sniffed violently, flinching away from her captor.

“No,” she swore and dragged herself backwards into the hard, cold wall. It hurt to move. “I’m not your Anna!”

Brian looked at her, his face the picture of hurt feelings and he advanced closer, hands outstretched as if she were a timid foal. “It’s alright, Anna,” he murmured, voice soft and careful. “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe.”

She looked at him aghast. “You _killed_ Thomas,” she glared at Wyatt across the room, “ _You_ killed Carson! How _the fuck_ am I safe here?!”

Brian’s face morphed into something vicious and suddenly he looked furious. “What have I told you about swearing being unbecoming to a lady, hmm?” He backhanded her across the face and her head bounced off the wall, a sharp cry escaping her and she cringed into the wall. The anger melted off his face and he stroked her red cheek with steady fingers. “Don’t make me hit you again, Anna. I’m sorry but you know that a foul mouth is a sign of the devil living inside you… There’s a good girl.” He cooed.

Anna lifted her chin stubbornly but bit her tongue. She needed to bide her time if she was going to make it out of here and him hitting her like that was not conducive to survival. She just needed to hold on long enough for Victor to find her.

He was going to come for her.

… wasn’t he?

 

**

She woke with a start and pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking around the room with a sinking feeling. Fuck, she wasn’t dreaming… she was living a nightmare.

Her stomach rolled again and she scrambled for the drain in the floor, shaking fingers prying at the grate and tears prickling at the back of her eyes. When she couldn’t get the grate free she just threw up into it, the nausea swelling and coming in waves. She lost count of how long she spent just laying there, moving enough to be sick and then shuffling away again. It could have been minutes but it felt like hours.

The door opened and a little scrap of a girl stepped inside, her entire body screaming ‘timid’. She had long dark brown hair and mousey features, a delicate skeleton as opposed to Anna’s own sturdy set one. Sure, she was slender but this girl was tiny. Her eyes were a pale, washed out blue and she had freckles across the bridge of her nose, thin lips and little to no curves.

God, she was quite possibly just a teenager.

She looked familiar.

Anna squinted at her and tried to stand, but couldn’t. “Who are you?” she asked, “… what do you want?”

The girl produced a small travel pack of baby wipes and a bottle of ginger ale, setting them on the floor a few steps away before digging into her pockets and producing a pack of sealed crackers.

“For you to clean up,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “I saw you being sick on the monitor; so you can get rid of the taste.”

Anna tentatively took the bottle and checked it for seals, made sure it was fresh. She scoffed inwardly at herself; even if the seals were intact Brian still could have tampered with it. “I,” she looked at the girl. “I’m not drinking this.”

The girl looked distressed and came closer. She looked worried that Anna was going to hurt her. Jesus, Brian, she thought, what have you done?

“ _Please_ ,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “You need to keep your fluids up or the baby will die.”

Anna froze. “Wh- _what_?” She schooled her features into something akin to calm, glanced at the camera she now knew was there and then back to the girl. “What did you say?”

Fingers were twitching and the girl looked nervous. “You don’t know yet?”

A feeling of horror begun to wash over her but Anna managed to remain calm. She clung to the wall and pulled herself upright. “What do you mean _‘baby’_?”

“I can hear the heartbeat.” The girl admitted after a moment, her voice barely even a whisper. “I could hear it when you came in.. like a flutter.”

Her hands started to shake as she carefully picked up the bottle of ginger ale. “I’m on birth control,” she argued back, just as quiet. “How could I be pregnant?” She mentally felt for the rod in her upper arm, thought back to when she had it inserted and when that had been. Fuck. It was coming up three years old, maybe four.

Shit.

The girl looked back over her shoulder and then back to Anna. “Please. Drink. I don’t know when they’ll be back.”

Anna woodenly opened the bottle and took a sip. “Do they know?”

There was the minutest movement of her head and then the girl was gone. Her secret was safe for now.

Jesus fucking Christ.

**

It was a long while later when the door creaked open again and in scurried the girl with a tray of food, all pre-packaged, nothing hot or fresh.

Anna was cold, her legs a mottled shade of pale and purple and she had goosebumps all over. She bent her head away as the girl neared her and whispered into her shoulder so nobody else could see.

“I know you, don’t I?”

The girl, give her credit, didn’t even falter. She merely set down the tray and blinked at her with sad, frightened eyes. “Markley’s store.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t know they were going to hurt you.”

She picked her way through the packets and chose a small travel sized lunch pack of jerky and some crackers. Of course she’d seen her before; the girl was the shelf stacker at the store almost an hour away from Victor’s farm. She’d been in there a few times with Wyatt and Carson to grab essentials before... how had she missed the fact she was being watched?

She hadn’t seen her in almost three weeks. “Was there a heartbeat?” she mumbled. “Last time you saw me?”

The girl looked at her with wide eyes, back to the camera. “I have to go.”

“Do they know you’re a mutant?” She was desperately trying not to move her mouth; they could hurt the girl and she didn’t want that.

“Please, Miss… I have to go. They’ll get suspicious.”

She headed for the door and barely paused when Anna called after her that she was cold. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

Anna sighed, frustrated with no more answers than before. “Thank you.” She bit into the jerky and grimaced but kept eating until it was all gone. If the girl swore there was a baby then by god she was going to protect her child, come whatever may.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	43. 43.

When Carson finally woke up it had been three long, whole days since Anna had been taken in the night. Victor had returned to the ranch and had found her scent alright; spread across a good hundred feet of dirt, in a puddle of rusty old blood and then it grew faint by one of the cattle yards behind the house. Or rather, behind where the house had been. It was gone, burnt to the ground and there was little to nothing left aside from the concrete slab and that fucking range cooker.

He’d hunted for her, tracked the stupid fools who had taken her four miles towards town but then the trail had grown cold. The blood they’d driven through on the way out had been hers and it had left a strong scent trail along the only road in and out of the ranch, but then they’d switched vehicles and left the old one behind.

It was definitely Wyatt’s truck that he’d found abandoned on the side of the road, door still open, engine still running.

He’d sniffed at the inside of the cab and could smell her but there was no panic, no fear, just blood.

Carson’s weak voice was croaky and rough. “… Sir…”

His eyes snapped up to look at the kid and he sighed.

Try as he might he’d not been able to track her much further than the four to five miles; it was like she’d disappeared into thin air and it made his blood boil. She’d been gone for too long.

Carson looked at him, eyes wide and afraid and he coughed weakly. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” At Victor’s solitary nod he cursed and his breathing became irregular. “She fell over when the fire started,” he mumbled, “I called out for her, bent down to grab her and next thing I‘m on the floor.” He met sharp, amber eyes and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, Sir,” his lip wobbled slightly and he started to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Victor started at him long and hard, then rose to his feet and left the room.

He didn’t return for almost two days.

**

“Molly! Get yer ass in here and clean this shit up!”

Anna coughed, her hand covered in vomit and half-digested pieces of crackers. She hadn’t been eating enough and it was making her feel sick; when she felt sick, she threw up. It was as simple as that.

God, if she didn’t see another bottle of ginger ale in her life it would be too soon.

“ ** _Molly_**!”

Anna glared up at Wyatt from his vomit coated feet and steeled herself as she saw him raise his boot to kick her. He was drawing his foot back and getting ready to lay into her when the girl, Molly, her name was, scurried into the room with towels and a mop and bucket, inadvertently saving Anna from a beating.

“Sorry, Sir,” she apologized profusely, mop clattering to the floor. “I was preparing something for our guest to eat and-”

“Bin it,” he snarled meanly, ignoring the stricken look on the young girl’s face. “Bitch doesn’t deserve anything nice. Fucking mutie lover,” he spat on the floor beside her and turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door after him.

Molly set to cleaning up the mess immediately, her head down and hair in her face. Even Anna could see she was afraid, could hear her sniffles as she fought off tears. She handed Anna a towel and mumbled something about cleaning herself up.

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Anna whispered sadly. She just wanted to wrap the girl in a huge hug and stroke her hair until it was all ok again.

Molly bit her lip. “No, ma’am. Wyatt’s never been a fan of mutants.” She mopped like she’d never been asked to do it before, slow and sloppy streaks across the floor.

“How do you know him?” She asked, carefully climbing to her knees and setting to help.

Poor Molly looked about ready to cry again. “H-he’s..” she made sure her back was to the door but never stopped moving the mop, “He’s my uncle.”

Horror washed over Anna and before she could stop it bile pushed its way up her throat and out onto the floor. She moaned pathetically and scuttled backwards. “God, I’m so sorry…”

Molly didn’t even bat an eyelid, merely tossed a towel over it and stomped carefully to soak up the mess. “S’ok, Miss,” she looked at her, scrutinizing her from head to toe. They’d moved her the day before into a different room; this one had a small, rickety bed and a toilet in the corner but still no windows and only one door in or out. “You’ve lost weight.” She accused.

Anna frowned. “I’m doing my best, Molly,” she used her name for the first time and the girl visibly shook. She scrubbed furiously at the floor now. “Are they going to kill… me?”

Molly paused and for a moment it looked like she was listening intently, then she shook her head and kept cleaning. “Uncle Wyatt wants to,” she blushed, “-do things.. Says you gave it up for a mutant..” She looked deeply uncomfortable saying anything and Anna felt the churning of her stomach again, only there was nothing left to throw up.

“You have to help me,” she lowered her voice even lower than before, quieter than almost humanly possible. “Please, Molly,” she begged. “You have to help _us_.”

Her features grew pale and she stepped away from Anna, picked up the mop and set it by the door. She quickly set to wiping the wet mess up with towels until it was mostly dry.

The door opened and Wyatt appeared there once more. “Out, child.” He sneered, watching her as she gathered her cleaning goods, the towels and scurried away. He glared at Anna, opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it and slammed the door again with a muttered ‘whore’.

Anna curled into the corner of the room and for the first time in god knew how many days, she let herself cry.

 

 


	44. 44.

Carson opened his eyes and flinched. “Jesus!” He snarled, picking at the waffle blanket covering his lap. “Who’re you?”

The girl looked at him, eyes wide and frightened. “M-molly.”

He squinted, carefully pulling himself further up the bed until he was resting against the pillows. The girl was sitting in the chair beside the bed with her hands clutching the arms, white knuckle tight and she was shaking like a leaf. She looked ever so familiar.

“Molly,” he said softly, “What are you-?”

“She’s alive. Anna.” She blurted out and her face paled in terror. “Oh God, I didn’t mean to..”

Carson eyed her with dark, assessing eyes. “Prove it.”

She nodded furiously and with shaking hands reached beneath the chair into a small woven shopping bag, the kind that was more netting than fabric and his eyes widened in horror when he saw the bloody scrap of her jeans. She carefully set them down on the bed and pat them with tiny, trembling fingers.

“I did my best to clean her up whilst she was out but h-he wouldn’t let me touch her,” she flinched as if she were awaiting a blow, “Please, you have to help them.”

Carson cocked his head and eyed her. “Them? Who else is there with her?”

She heaved a sob and shook her head. “I can’t,” she insisted. “I’ve already said too much.” She rose from the chair quickly and with so much force that it clattered to the floor and then she fled the room.

“Wait!” He called after her. “You left your… coat…” He looked at the small child sized jacket on the back of the fallen chair and a slow, stunned grin began to form on his face. “Oh, you clever girl…”

She must have known, had to know that Victor could track her from her scent on the clothing and from there, locate Anna. She had been petrified, the girl and he felt sorry for the poor little thing, wondered how she’d gotten herself mixed up in this whole mess.

The bandages on his arms, back and legs pulled tightly across his burns and he winced as he tried to climb out of the hospital bed, hand pressed firmly against his gut where he’d been shot.

A passing nurse saw him out of bed and hurried into the room, fussing and trying to put him back to bed. “You can’t be up and about yet!” She chastised.

Carson took a page from Victor’s book and snarled at her, pulling his arm from her firm grip. “Either you get me a phone, or you let me go find one.” He demanded and she blinked, pointing to the bedside cabinet. Oddly enough his attempt at a snarl hadn’t had the same effect that his bosses did. Funny that.

“There’s one in there. There’s one in every room.”

He blinked, suddenly feeling bad for being so rude. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “-could you possibly help me back to the bed and get it out for me? Thank you Ma’am.”

**

“I don’t understand how this happened.”

Victor looked sideways at the pain in the ass and sneered. “Like I said,” he started, slow and annoyed, “I was at the other end of the property when she went missing. It’s a fucking big piece of land, Ass-hat.”

Michael looked at him with a frown. “Will you stop calling me any and all derivatives of ‘ass’ please?”

Victor scowled and stopped to look at him, towering head and shoulders over the soldier. “How’s about I call you by name when we get your sister back, hmm? Until then, you’ve proven to be an asshole so that’s how it stays.”

Michael’s expression soured. “You know, they never said you were such a sarcastic piece of shit in the stories.” He shouldered the military issue rifle and stomped after him through the parking lot towards a massive dual cab truck. “Are you sure you can trust this ‘Molly’?” He asked, voice pitched lower and quiet. “Could she be a trap?”

Victor shrugged with one shoulder. “If she’s a trap, then your sister is as good as dead.”

“Wait, _what?!_ ” Michael stopped walking and stared at him, “You never said she was hurt!”

Victor turned on him and backed him into one of the nearby cars, getting right in his face and snarling angrily. “What did you think I meant when I said she was missing and Carson was injured, hmm? When I told you that she’d been taken by force and I lost the fucking blood trail after five miles?” He jabbed him in the chest with a sharp clawed finger and got so close that the asshole could probably smell what he’d last eaten and when. “If you’d done your fucking job in the first place none of this would have happened.”

The shorter man spluttered, “ _My job_? I’m not the one who-”

“ _You_ are the one who let that sorry sack of shit live in the first place,” he spat. “You could have taken care of it well before now but you know why you haven’t?” He purred, low and dangerous. “Because you’re a fucking coward.”

He spun on his heel and stalked towards the truck where he produced a small bag, opened it and took a deep lungful of the scent that was lingering on the coat. It smelled of the girl, Molly he assumed, like lavender and wheat with a sharp spicy undercurrent that was all Anna. He could smell her blood, small flecks of it visible on the cuff of the fabric.

Fury swelled in his gut and he felt the rage of his youth bubbling forth.

Michael approached quietly, almost too quiet for a human but then he was a military sniper. He’d been trained to move quietly and efficiently when need be and he was slipping into work mode right before Victor’s eyes. About damn time, too.

“Anything?” He asked lowly and then took a visible step back when he caught sight of Victor’s eyes, the pupils blown wide open and nothing but a glowing ring of amber around the edges. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Victor dropped into a crouch and inhaled deeply, eyes flitting from side to side before he cocked his head and with inhuman speed took off in the opposite direction.

On all fours.

Michael jumped into the truck and followed after him, guilt wracking his body. Victor was right. He should have taken care of the situation a long, long time ago. He only hoped that he would have the chance to redeem himself… to save his baby sister the way he should have years ago.

He owed her and he owed Thomas.

Now he just had to keep up with the beast before him.

 


	45. 45.

“I want her first.”

There was a scoff and a hand touched her forehead. “You’re not getting her at all,” Brian. “She’s mine, Wyatt. Mine and mine only.”

Anna held her eyes closed and swallowed discreetly, her stomach a riot of fear and sickness. Brian had been into ‘her’ room almost a dozen times that day, each time coming over and sitting by her on the bed, touching her hair and stroking her face. He’d look at her with that frighteningly soft look, told her he loved her each time he left and ‘reassured’ her that he would be back soon. That he would take care of her.

Wyatt huffed and she could just imagine him standing with his feet braced apart, arms folded across his burly chest. He spat out an angry ‘bullshit’.

“Hate to burst your damned bubble, Brian, but she’s been givin’ herself to that fucking animal for the past few months… Your feelin’s be damned.” He paused and said again. “I want her.”

Brian raged at him, pulling her hair as he hurried to stand. He missed her hiss of pain, too busy screaming at Wyatt, unhinged.

“She would _NEVER_ do that! She knows how much I love her and _she_ loves _me_! We’ve been saving ourselves for marriage, haven’t we, Anna-Belle?” He cooed, completely at odds with the raging maniac he’d been a moment earlier. “It’s alright,” he soothed, unhinged. “Soon, we can be together, Anna. Soon, my love.”

Anna burst into tears and shuffled as far from him as she could, kicking out each time he tried to touch her again. It hurt her leg but she didn’t care. She didn’t want hide nor hair of him anywhere near her.

“Get away from me!” She cried, pulling her shirt lower so it covered her underwear. She could feel Wyatt’s eyes on her every time the shirt rode up her thighs and it made her feel dirty, filthy even. “Why are you doing this to me? _Why_ , Brian?!”

He looked at her, hurt. “Anna-Belle…” He started and she sobbed harder.

“NO!! NO YOU CAN’T CALL ME THAT!” Tears ran down her face unbidden and she hiccupped from the force of her sobs. “YOU KILLED THOMAS!”

Brian screwed up his face in confusion. “But Anna, he was dangerous! He was going to hurt you!”

She shook her head wildly, hands on the wall and feet still kicking out. “You. Killed. My. Big. Brother.” She ground out and dissolved into sobs again when she thought of her little stray, her adoptive sibling. “And Carson… Why Carson?”

An ugly expression crossed Brian’s face before he schooled it into one of calm. “He was a mutant, Anna,” he explained calmly, “They’re not safe to be around. There are dangerous people out there, my love and he was one of them.” He tried to touch her foot and she lashed out with a grunt, catching him in the chin and busting him open. He froze, seething. “Anna..” He was about to reach for her again, his blood dripping onto her leg when he noticed her shirt had indeed ridden up once more and then he stopped dead.

Her scars. He’d seen her scars.

He looked from scars to her face, then back to her hips again. “Anna,” he started, voice dark. “… What are those?”

She hiccupped and tugged her shirt down, swallowing audibly.

Wyatt laughed from the doorway, sinister and dirty. “Told ya she was givin’ herself to a mutant.” He crowed. “Saw it for myself with my own two eyes, I did. Spread her legs and begged like a whore for him to throw her around.” He leaned into the room. “Your _‘love’_ likes it rough, Brian.”

She snarled a curse word at him and flipped him the bird. “Go fuck yourself you filthy fucking pervert! How dare you-” She stopped mid-sentence abruptly as Brian grabbed her ankle and tugged. Hard.

His hands were on her hips and pulling at her underwear, not to remove them, but to move them out of the way so he could see the damage, to confirm what Wyatt had said. His face when he did so, when he saw the bite marks on the inside of her thigh and tore open her shirt to look over the rest of her was terrifying.

He straightened and pursed his lips, whistling shrilly and hollering out the door. “MOLLY!”

The little girl appeared and wrung her hands together in the doorway, eyes adverted from her state of undress. “Yes, sir?”

“Run a bath, Molly.” He ordered her and turned back with a dark look on his face. “We need to cleanse Anna of her sins.”

**

She fought and scratched the whole way down the hall, kicking and screaming with all she had. She was draped over Brian’s shoulder and his hand was dangerously close to the inside of her thigh near her butt cheek. She squirmed in an effort to escape but it was for nothing.

He dumped her in the bathtub, the water still running and she numbly thought that the water was warm. She was going to drown but at least the water was mercifully warm.

“Brian, please!” She begged but he was beyond listening. His hand, the one she’d held as a teenager and thought was so manly and warm was cold and clammy. He pushed her down between her shoulder blades and her face was under water. She held her breath as long as possible, only breathing when he’d let her up for air. Soon enough though she was coughing and spluttering, water making its way into her lungs and she thought of Victor, of their unborn child and struggled anew. She could hear Brian reciting prayers over her and then a muted crash of breaking glass, then nothing.

She lay face down in the water for what seemed like minutes but was only really seconds before she lifted her head and heaved a massive breath, coughing weakly and reaching for the edge of the tub. Hands reached for her and she shrunk away for a moment before she recognized the blood splattered face of Molly, her young eyes wide and mouth open.

“ _Please,_ ” Anna begged hoarsely, her face dripping with water. “ _Help me..”_

Molly was mute with horror and when Anna looked down she could see why. Brian was laying on the bathroom floor and there were bits missing, blood and gore spread all over the wall behind him and all over poor Molly.

Her voice was shrill and tight. “ _Molly_!”

The girl sprung into action, pulling at her arms until she slipped from the tub and onto the floor with a painful thump. She pulled off her sweater and pushed it at Anna, urging her to cover up and fawning as she pulled on the sweatshirt. “Miss,” she whispered, verging on hysteria, “Are you ok?!”

“Wh-what happened?” She hated the way her voice trembled but she couldn’t stop shivering. Her stomach was bloated from water ingestion and she slipped on the floor as she stepped over Brian’s dead body. “What happened?!?” There was a smear of blood, not her own, up her good leg to the knee.

Molly pointed to the broken window. “I th-think someone shot him.”

Anna heard someone coming and pulled the young girl behind her, still spitting out water and her hair and body sodden. Her fingernails were bloody in places and bent back and she suddenly felt weak but she held her ground. Her nose was bleeding. The bathroom door burst open and into shards of flying wood and Molly screamed but Anna laughed, then started to cry as Victor’s massive body barrelled into the room.

He saw Anna shielding the girl and cocked his head at the bloody child, then crooked a finger at his lover and coaxed her closer. It took a moment for Anna to come around to what was happening but then she realized; he was talking to her, a low, soothing purr emanating from low in his chest and he was carefully edging closer.

“Frail…” he murmured, eyes taking in her state of undress and the way she was covered in bloody water, the still sloshing bathtub and the body on the floor. “Frail; _come. Here_.”

She fucking threw herself at him with a sob and climbed up his front. She tried to wrap her legs tight around his middle but failed, her wounded leg weak from the fight. “ _Victor.._ ”

His hands were hot and his extended claws dug into her back and hips, his face buried in her wet hair and inhaling deeply. He could smell her distress, blood and terror leeching from her and then there was the body. He looked down at the small girl hiding in the corner by the bathtub and held out a hand to her, pointing.

“Who the fuck’re you?”

She whimpered at his tone and backed against the wall. “P-please don’t hurt me…” She eyed his claws and teeth, the sheer size of him and clocked that he was a mutant straight away. He was Anna’s mutant.

Anna sniffled quietly and turned to look back at her. She held out a trembling hand to the girl. “Molly, come here.” She was crying properly now. When did she start crying so hard?

She nodded, teeth chewing her lip. “Yes, Miss.”

“Victor,” she murmured through tears, “-she’s Wyatt’s niece.”

He hummed, brow cocked. “Oh, she is, now?” He looked her up and down and sniffed deliberately. “You Pauley’s kid?”

She burst into tears and nodded slowly. “Y-yes Sir.”

He nodded slowly and shuffled Anna around in his arms, holding her up against him with one strong forearm and held his other hand out to the child. “C’mere, kid.” Her small hand slipped into his paw and he bodily hauled her over the body between them and led her out the door. “Where’s your uncle, kid?”

She stopped and listened, looked left then right and pointed off into the dark of night. She had a look in her eyes that he recognized from his youth, from his childhood; she was pissed. “He’s gone that way.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened.. I feel like I should point out that I have no issue with people who have religion, even if it turns a select few into whackjobs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions, people!
> 
> ... Brian however, is just a dick.


	46. 46.

Michael folded himself into the chair beside the bed and stared at his little sister with red, sore eyes.

She was hooked up to monitors and cables, little sticky pads disappearing underneath the neckline of her hospital gown and an oxygen mask over her face. She was deathly pale and oh so weak, her arms covered in blossoming bruises and her thigh, hidden by the blanket, much the same. Then there was the bullet wound…

He’d held her in the back of the truck, mumbling praise and stroking her wet hair, kissing her brow and encouraging her to stay awake. He knew shock; he’d seen it in person dozens of times before in his line of work but then it had never been his sister… His only remaining sibling. It had never been all he had left.

Victor had practically kicked them all out of the truck as soon as the hospital was in sight then he’d sped off into the night and hadn’t returned since.

Anna had been unconscious when they’d hurried through the emergency department doors and her heartbeat sluggish. She was pale and cold and bleeding and he had freaked the fuck out seeing her that way. Victor had been right when he’d said this whole mess was partially his fault; if only he’d done something sooner…

“Sir?”

He looked up towards the door and sat up a little straighter when he saw the blonde in the wheelchair and he stared. God, even the way he fidgeted was like…

Creed had warned him about Anna’s little stray who was now under his umbrella of protection.

“.. Sir?” He interrupted his wallowing quietly, his voice gentle and unsure.

Michael moved quickly, opening the door wide enough for him to enter the room and once he’d gotten him situated by the opposite side of the bed he carefully shook his hand.

“Michael.”

The blonde gave a half smile and nodded. “Carson.” He looked over Anna and scrubbed at glassy eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sir. It was my job to take care of her.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He said softly, callused hand hovering over his sister’s foot through the blanket. “That was my job and I failed it a long time ago.” He set his hand down on her foot and immediately the heart monitor she was hooked up to started to scream. She kicked and flailed and he pulled his hand away as if he’d burned her.

“Miss Anna!” Carson called and almost immediately she cracked an eye open and peered across in his direction. The blood drained from her face and she started to shake.

“No,” she whimpered, “no! I don’t wanna die!”

Michael bit back a sob but Carson, Anna’s little stray, immediately rolled closer to the bed and gently took her hand. “You’re safe, Miss,” he assured her, “-you’re in the hospital. _You’re safe_.”

She calmed enough to open both eyes and looked around the room. “I,” she paused, laying eyes on the blonde for the first time since the fire almost a week earlier. “Carson?” her voice was so small. “You were dead..”

He shot her a wry grin and squeezed her hand. “Takes more than a gut wound to kill me, Miss.”

She started to cry, her hands reaching for him. “You’re not dead! Oh God, you’re not dead!”

He shook his head and hugged her carefully, peering around the room before he climbed from the wheelchair so he could reach her properly. He’d been yelled at enough for one lifetime about getting out of it too soon.

“Not dead, Miss.”

She pulled off her mask and buried her face in his neck and sobbed, hands careful but tight around his shoulders. She was mid sniffle when she noticed the other person in the room.

“M-mikey?” Her eyes were wide and she shook slightly. “Y-you…”

He shot her a humorless smile and nodded. “I’m here.”

She stared at him for a long minute. “It was you.” At his look of concern and Carson’s hum of confusion, “-you were the one who.. Is he really gone?”

Carson looked from brother to sister and cocked a brow. “What’d I miss?”

Michael nodded. “If he survived that shot…” he trailed off. He wasn’t one to blow his own horn but he was a damned fine shot, perhaps one of the best around. “He’s dead, Anna-belle.” There was no other possible way to say it; there was part of his head missing. Of course her kidnapper was dead.

She smiled, small and fragile and suddenly froze. “Molly! Where’s Molly?!” She looked wildly around the room and tried to get out of bed.

“She’s fine,” Carson soothed. “She’s how we found you.” He told her. “Clever kid, that one.”

At her look of confusion they went on to tell her how Molly had visited the hospital, had left her scent as well as Anna’s all over the place and had single handedly led Victor and Michael to her rescue.

At the mention of Victor’s name, Anna curled in on herself a little, especially when she noted he wasn’t there with them.

“The other guy got away,” Michael murmured in explanation, “-I suspect he’s looking for him.”

She sniffed, straightened a little more. “Good. I hope he breaks his fucking legs.”

“Anna,” Michael started quietly, “I don’t think there’ll be any legs left to break..”

She stared at him with hard, emotionless eyes. “Good.”

The men shared a look and she fidgeted beneath her blanket, plucking at the drip in her hand.

“Have,” she started, “-have the doctors said anything?” Their twin looks of confusion made her sigh. “Molly can hear things,” she looked at her lap. “She said I have two heartbeats. I don’t know if she was trying to get me to fight back or if there’s a baby, but..”

Michael spluttered and Carson’s face broke out into a bright smile. “You’re pregnant, Miss??” His voice held so much wonder, so much excitement that she couldn’t help but smile just a bit.

She eyed her brother and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.” She jerked when Michael stood up and headed for the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m getting the doctor.” He told her, looking back. “I want to know if I’m going to be an uncle or not.”

**

“Well,” the doctor smiled at her. “It looks like you’ve got one hell of a fighter in there.” She hugged the clipboard to her ribs. “Congratulations, Miss Robinson.”

Anna bit her lip and looked down at her still flat stomach in wonder. There was a child in there; one that had, in its own way, kept her alive when she’d just wanted to give up. God, she’d wanted to give up so much but the mere thought of protecting her baby was far more important than anything else. She would protect him or her no matter what, even if their papa didn’t want them.

They’d never spoken about children but Victor didn’t exactly strike her as the father type.

“Is there any way of finding out how far along I am?” She asked timidly. “I’m all over the place because of the implant so I’m not sure when…”

The doctor smiled reassuringly. “Oh of course; we can do an ultrasound and try to pinpoint your dates then we can get the implant removed.” She pat her on the knee and pushed away from the bed, rose to her feet and shot her another warm smile. “Congratulations again, Anna.”

Anna smiled, tired and small. “Thank you.”

As the door opened and the doctor left she heard a lot of raised voices in the hallway and she looked out, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not-” the doctor was cut off by a small body shoving her out of the way and then Molly was at her bedside, shaking and tearful.  She was in a hospital gown and her eyes were wide with terror.

“Miss!”

Anna gathered her up and held her close, flinching when she heard Michael’s voice snarling insults at someone. Molly cried even harder when another voice snapped back and that’s when it clicked. The other voice had to be Molly’s father.

“-keep the damn kid for all I care! I never wanted the brat anyway!”

There was a sound, like a scuffle and then a sound she knew well. It was the muted thump of fists on skin and even more shouting.

It was another few minutes before things calmed down enough for anyone to come in and explain. In the meantime Anna curled around the young girl and stroked her hair, whispered reassuring nothings to her and glared out the door.

She was not expecting it to open and reveal her wayward lover.

“V-victor?”

He eyed the child curled between them and came into the room, stopped at the end of the bed and stared at her. His fingernails were still a ruddy brown underneath and she knew that smell, blood and smoke that clung to his clothes.

It was done. He’d found Wyatt. At least she hoped that was what he’d been doing; he reeked of something strange, smoky and meaty… It made her hungry and she refused to think on that too much.

“Alright, Frail?” He touched her foot through the blanket, fingers curling around her ankle and holding just so. He inhaled deeply and paused. He breathed in again, mouth open, teeth clenched with his tongue pressed against them. “Frail... Are you neglecting to tell me something?”

She shrunk under his gaze and held Molly closer. “Not now, Victor.” She refused to meet his eyes and he moved closer, coming around the bed to her side. One large, hot hand pressed into the soft flat of her stomach and he cocked his head. He was being far too gentle with her, far more careful than he would be if he were angry. His fingers flexed over her stomach, claws scraping her skin.

Her stomach flipped. God, was he angry? Was he going to hurt her or her baby?

He opened his mouth to speak, lifted a hand toward her face and she flinched. His expression turned dark and he pried Molly away from her. “Out.” He demanded and Molly, shaking like a leaf climbed from the bed and padded from the room, did as she was told. She paused at the door and Victor wordlessly pointed into the hallway, urging her to keep going. Once she was gone and the door swung shut behind her he turned back to Anna and cocked his head.

She held his gaze but shied away from his hand when he reached for her again. He spat out a curse and started to pace the room. He reminded her of a big cat locked in a too-small cage.

“Did he fucking touch you?” He demanded to know, gesturing to her body. “Did he put his hands on you?”

She sniffed and shook her head. “Wyatt had ideas but it didn’t happen..”

He let out a snarl of rage. “I fucking knew I should have made him suffer more!”

Anna fidgeted and played with her blanket. “Do I want to know..?”

He eyed her and moved closer, brows raised towards his hairline. “Don’t know… do you?”

She mulled it over, eyes downcast for some time. She chewed her lip until she tasted copper and then closed her eyes and gave a solitary nod. “Tell me he suffered?”

His big hand fisted in the bedding and he pulled it out of her grasp, exposing her legs to him. The bruising was awful where Wyatt had kicked her, where she’d turned last minute to protect her stomach and the baby. She had ugly black patches up her back and across her shoulder, a black eye healing slowly on the left of her face. The gunshot wound was wrapped tightly but he could see the healing gravel rash on her knees where she’d skidded to a halt at the farm. A low, dangerous growl filled the room and she found herself relaxing a bit, the tension leaving her shoulders.

He touched one of the bruises above her knee and pressed on it until the skin blanched white. “Not enough,” he murmured. “He was on foot and I ran him down from behind. Got out, made sure he was broken and broke him some more.”

She looked at him, eyes glassy. “Why?”

He cocked his head and gave her a look that made her insides warm for the first time in days. “He took what’s mine, Frail. You have to know that I wouldn’t let that slide.” He stroked a hand up her calf and cupped her knee, thumbed at the patchy rash of scabbed over sores. “He screamed, Frail. He screamed and cursed me out for being the filth that I am, then when that didn’t work he begged.” He bent over her and nuzzled her neck. “He begged for his life and cried like a baby. I made sure he couldn’t walk, couldn’t run for his life.” The wet flat of his tongue traced a stripe up her cheek and he nipped at her earlobe. “You want to know what I did next?”

She nodded, face turned into his cheek. “Please…”

His voice was low and softer than she’d ever heard it before. He whispered into her ear and she felt every inch of her erupt into goosebumps.

“I set the fucker on fire.”

Her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a ragged gasp. “He suffered?”

Victor pulled back just far enough to brush her nose with his. “Not enough, Frail. Not enough.” His large, hot hand pushed under the hem of her hospital gown and spread out flat over her stomach. “Nobody touches what’s mine and gets away with it.” He nuzzled her, all cat-like and purred against her throat. Long, sharp nails pricked her stomach as he flexed his fingers. “You’re my mate.” He bumped her cheek with his forehead. “This is my cub.” His eyes were her favorite shade of whiskey gold when he met her gaze. “Nobody touches what’s mine.”

 


	47. 47.

It had been almost a week since she had been released from the hospital and in that time, the day after her release even, her stomach had popped out to a sizeable bump. There was no mistaking she was pregnant now.

She’d been fourteen weeks gone at the time of the kidnapping and now two weeks later, she was sixteen weeks along with a hefty bump and all the cravings to go with it. Her baby was healthy and growing steadily much to the amusement of one of the midwives in the hospital; the evil crone had taken one look at the size of the father and had crowed with glee. Anna was not held responsible for her actions; she may or may not have punched her square in the nose. She was over hearing people crowing about her discomfort.

She flung her crutches aside and hobbled towards the freezer in search of the tub of hand churned chocolate-mint gelato that she knew was in there. She rifled through the contents of the freezer with a one track mind and made a sound of victory when she came across the small tub of icy goodness she’d hidden the day before, then she moved onto the fridge for the punnet of fresh blueberries Carson had procured as a treat.

She flailed and almost dropped the lot when a small, girly voice asked from behind her, “Where are your crutches?”

Anna spun around and fell sideways into the appliance, thankfully the door was closed by now and she eyed Molly with a dangerous side-eye. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Molly rubbed her eyes tiredly and shuffled into the kitchen further, plonked herself at the table and yawned. It made Anna’s insides melt just a little. The child had a rough go of it and as a direct result of her father’s neglect was now staying with them. Victor’s pack had grown again.

“Mr. Creed is loud when he sleeps.”

She stared at Molly for a few moments and tried to piece together a plausible explanation for Molly’s statement. She knew for a fact that Victor was a silent sleeper. Fuck, he was a silent everything. Well, almost. Point being though, he didn’t make a sound whilst he was resting, not even a whistle of breath.

“Honey,” she tried calmly, “What do you mean? Is he snoring?”

The girl’s face screwed up and she shook her head. She tapped at her temple. “His head is noisy. Lots of yelling and screaming and banging.” She cocked her head, something she’d picked up from Victor already. “Can’t you hear it too?”

Anna shook her head slowly and sat opposite Molly. “I,” she opened her mouth and made a show of concentrating. Could Molly have other abilities? She couldn’t hear a damned thing aside from the hum of the refrigerator and the crickets outside. God she missed the city. No fucking crickets. “No, I can’t.”

Molly looked frightened all of a sudden. “I’m sorry!” She backed away from the table and knocked the chair backwards with a clatter. “I didn’t mean to listen, it’s just so loud!”

Anna held up one hand and rubbed her belly with the other. The baby was always more active at night and was on the move. It was a strange thing to get used to.

“Molly I’m not angry with you, calm down.” She held out her hand and the girl slipped into what was left of her lap, shaking and pale. “Sweetie, I’m not angry, it’s alright.”

Fat tears were rolling down Molly’s face now but she was otherwise silent. “… Mr. Creed wont be happy.” She looked at her. “Who is Jimmy? He thinks about Jimmy a lot lately.”

Anna opened her mouth to answer her, she wasn’t sure, but a movement in the doorway made her look over and there he was, the man of the hour. He was sleep rumpled and topless, a pair of ratty old cut-off sweats on his lower half and a dark look on his face. Anna frowned.

“Victor, it seems that you’re a noisy sleeper.”

He cocked his head and stepped into the room, arms hanging at his sides and claws retracted. She hadn’t known he could extend them or retract them as he wished until recently. He just looked like a grumpy, massive mountain of a man without them. Well, she knew him well enough to peg his expression as annoyed, but she wasn’t going to let Molly know that.

He lumbered into the room and leant against the counter top, legs crossed at the ankle and fingers fishing into the punnet of blueberries to snavel a couple. He popped them into his mouth and chewed slowly.

“How?”

Molly buried her face in Anna’s neck and Anna sighed. Guess she had to answer the questions. “Molly can hear you,” she cocked a brow, “-in her head.”

Something shifted across his eyes and his frown deepened. “Is that so, Molly?” He was firm with her but nowhere near the mean, cruel hearted asshats that had been her family.

She peered up at him and nodded slowly. He threw another berry into his mouth.

“What can you hear now?”

The little girl tipped her head towards him and frowned in confusion. “Not much.” She admitted. “When you’re awake I can’t hear you, but I can feel you instead.” At his blink, “-you’re warm. Like a blanket.” She tapped her head. “Up here.”

He eyed her for a minute then gave her a firm nudge away from Anna. “You need to go to bed.” She began to protest and he held up a finger. “Now.” At Anna’s sharp look he added a disgruntled ‘what?!’ as Molly ran from the kitchen.

He stared at his furious mate. “What? What have I done now?!” He could smell the burnt tang of molasses. She was angry at him.

“You can’t just order her around, Victor. She’s an innocent child who doesn’t know any better!” At his clueless look, “She thinks you’re going to hurt her!!”

“I don’t want her in my fucking head, Frail!” He snapped and he knew he’d said the wrong thing immediately. Her face shut down and she stared past him blankly. He sighed and rubbed a big hand over his face. “I don’t…” he nudged her until she looked up at him. “It’s no place for a child.” He admitted after a beat. “Did she say what she could hear?”

Anna shuffled in discomfort, the chairs were hard against her sore leg and popped a berry in her mouth, offered another to Victor. He plucked it from her fingers silently and rolled it in his palm before eating it.

“Yelling,” she told him, “-screaming. Something about someone named Jimmy and banging.” At his raised brow, “I’m assuming she means explosions.” Her hand smoothed across his thick thigh and tugged at him until he sat beside her. “Were you dreaming about the wars?”

He wouldn’t meet her eye, just swallowed silently and the muscle in his jaw worked. “I don’t want her in my head. There are things…” he eyed her. “I’ve done things that she doesn’t need to know about.” It was left unsaid that there were things _she_ didn’t need to know about either. She knew he wasn’t a model citizen and that he’d done horrible things, but as long as he didn’t bring it home she couldn’t bring herself to care. Everything he did, he did for a reason. She might not understand his reasoning at times but it mattered to him so it mattered to her by default.

She nudged him. “Who’s Jimmy?”

He sighed and muttered. “What does it matter?”

Anna shifted. “Well,” she started awkwardly. “It must be bothering you if you’re dreaming about him.”

“James,” he mumbled after some time, “Jimmy is James. My brother.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ and she nodded. He didn’t want to talk about him. Ok. “What are we going to do about Molly?” She changed the subject smoothly and he snorted at her obvious attempt at deflecting. His big hand rubbed the back of her neck roughly and he squeezed lightly, pulling her out of her chair and closer to him. He lifted her onto his lap and carefully avoided her wounded leg.

“You leave her to me,” at her look of speculation he went on. “I have an idea. Fucking stupid one, but I have an idea.”

“Will she get hurt?”

He shook his head. “No, Frail. She’s safe.”

She tucked her head under his chin and nestled closer, his big arms curled around her and the bump of their child between them. “Good. What’s this fantastic idea then?”


End file.
